


W:NGS- Winchester Next Generation Series: THE NTH DEGREE

by ByArasDesign



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Asherim Dean, Asherim Sam, Cleaning up the SPN inconsistancy, Erelim Castiel, F/M, Fáelad Conríocht (Lycanthropes of Ireland, Humans no longer unaware that the supernatural exists, M/M, Multi, No mpreg, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sumerian gods, canon divergence - Do You Believe in Miracles?, decendants of the Lycanthropes of Sumeria), spn mythos relevant, unfulfilled character growth and unanswered questions, unofficial supernatural genesis story included, winchester next generation series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByArasDesign/pseuds/ByArasDesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a future post-desolation world (2040 A.D./7 P.D.)</p><p>(SPN/Canon Divergent 9X23/Destiel AU).</p><p>The Archangel Sariel had been waiting a very long time for a sign. It finally reveals itself with the Annuna being thrown from their high place by Metatron. It's not exactly the <em>Fall</em> in of itself he awaited. Rather, it was the grace that the Scribe used in his spell. It is the grace of the most important of all the Annuna- the very one to whom Sariel is forever bound. </p><p>It's when Enlil's Key, is passed to no ordinary descendant of Cain, that Sariel confers with the first Son of God who tells Sariel it is time to take matters into their own hands. They send Gabriel to help Dean Winchester kill the Scribe (<i>at the end of 9X23</i>) as foretold, so the Unfolding may begin once more. By Sariel and the Son of God changing the outcome of that singular moment, the course of the Winchester's lives is forever changed, and a whole new future is paved for Annuna and Humanity alike.</p><p>2040 A.D./7 P.D. - Dean and Sam awaken in 2040 with no memory of the past 25 years. They find themselves in a world far removed from the one they knew and soon learn that they themselves have been changed.</p><p>(Summary cont.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awaken: Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> (Summary cont.)
> 
> (GOD/CHUCK's REAL NAME ~~~ >ENKI)
> 
> As if those weren't enough, they also find themselves embroiled in a war that began between two brothers {Enki and Enlil} that ignited with the creation of humanity.
> 
> It is through the _Revelation of the Archangel Sariel_ , that Sam and Dean learn the truth about creation, the parts Castiel and Gabriel played in the true Genesis story, the vital role the Three Spheres have in ordering the cosmos and the injustice that has been placed in _their_ hands to make right. 
> 
> Sam and Dean are called into decidedly separate roles. Rather than these separate roles driving them apart, it pulls them together stronger than they have ever been because for once, they are a untied front. This also means they no longer find themselves fumbling in the dark to find pseudo-purposes that gave them a reason to wake up in the morning only to leave them feeling empty by nightfall. First, they must come to grips not only with who they _are_ , but who they have always been _destined_ to become. Though, none of these things they face compare to the challenges they take on when it comes to building relationships with the sons they have no memory of having raised. 
> 
> Sons born in fulfillment of a prophecy which was spun at the beginning of all creation.
> 
> *
> 
> This story is extensive and while the main summary focuses on Sam and Dean, the story itself explores other characters, new and old, just as much. 
> 
> In the section, _'Revelation of the Archangel Sariel'_ , you are given the **Unofficial SPN ' _Genesis_ ' story**.
> 
> Through Sariel's retelling of the past, you will learn how it ALL began and about the events that lead to the ' _Fall of Man_ ' as well as Lucifer's imprisonment _(which is NOT what you have been told. Sympathy for the Devil? Perhaps)_. 
> 
> You also learn just _who_ Castiel really is and why Chuck took such a special interest in the Winchesters. 
> 
> The Legacy and the Men of Letters' secrets will be revealed. Namely, who is behind the formation of The Legacy and it's purpose which separates it from the Men of Letters. 
> 
> Two brand new Orders of importance will also be introduced. The Order of the Dagda-Rei and the Sages of Dagon. 
> 
> The Legacy, the Order of the Dagda-Rei and the Sages of Dagon will continue to be of major import throughout the story, even up to the very end.
> 
> New characters will be met along the way, and as it all pulls together there will be some surprises as each character chooses a path for their own personal journey. What they find at the end of all things will be more than any of them had ever dared hope for. A light at the end of the tunnel.
> 
> This story was written with a big budget film in mind rather than a TV show. It also stands as my testament to the endless possibilities I see in these amazing characters, as well as the rich mythos we have been handed down. 
> 
> <3
> 
>   
> The Website: (soundtracks/musical scores, character bios, mythology references, gif comparisons and more) [[X](http://winchesternextgenerationseries.tumblr.com/main)]  
>   
>    
> 
> 
> I was begged by a couple dozen people (who have been waiting a while) to go ahead and WIP this. Just bookmark or subscribe to keep alerted for when future chapters are posted.
> 
> All artwork is by me but I HIGHLY encourage anyone with artistic talent, who might be inspired by this work, to make some art/graphics/vids of their own to do so.
> 
> Major thanks to [TheSpyWhoSpies](http://thespywhospies.tumblr.com/tagged/second%20gen%20winchesters) who solved my concept block for this story by giving a face to James and Henry. Without her gif prompts featuring them... this story wouldn't have gotten off the ground.
> 
> **NOTE: The RAPE/NON-CON** warning does not involve any of the central characters. I try to put this warning up whenever the subject comes up whether it is dealt with graphically or even in mention. This is one of those tags of utmost importance to include at the very beginning, instead of bringing it up when the situation occurs so that the reader is aware ahead of time. While perhaps overly cautious, it's always better to be overly than underly. :)
> 
> Okay... summary and notes outta the way... Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

_( **UPDATE: 4/19/16** \- This chapter has been completely redrafted. The structure is much the same, but a ton of content has been added. Original body of this chapter had a word count of 7,957. Now, this chapter stands at 11,994. If you read this work before this date, then it is imperitive you read it again before moving on. This goes for chapters two and three as well, since they are going through a similar update. Thank you for all your patience while you waited for more updates from this work. You will notices a POVswitch back and forth, even within the same paragraph in the beginning of this chapter. It is 100% purposeful. I hope it gives the effect I was going for, if not, no big loss lol. I just wanted to make sure you knew, I knew. ;) )_

_**This story is dedicated to my holy trinity** \- Jedi Master **Ben Edlund** , with whom I'd be Padawan to in a heartbeat. His storytelling genius is the reason this even exists. **Robbie "Robo" Thompson** who brought light, life, and fun into the Winchester's lives. Thank you for bringing us Charlie and fighting for her. Thank you for loving Castiel and being mindful of our Destiel feels and needs with every episode you wrote. Thank you for giving us the Legacy and the Men of Letters (that goes to Adam Glass too for his contributions to the glory). I'm still not sure you two know what you created, but thank you none-the-less. Without that bit of inspiration, this story would be only a shadow of what it could have been. Your talent will be missed on SPN, but hopefully it's not the last we see if your brilliant imagination. Last, but not least, thank you for being bold and calling fanfiction **FICTION**. I think that's the first time I personally felt my work was valued. While you may never read this particular piece, I would have never found the courage to finish this without those words of support. Now, to the last of this tri-Divinity, this is dedicated to the **goddess Brigid** who inspires not only my creativity and ights the fires of my compassion but also brought **SPN** into my life to begin with- which changed **EVERYTHING**._

[Series Theme Score](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azmq6jOpBGU)

[Series Trailer Score](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2Ovke-wuLc)

[Series End Credits Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqIL7MXotkc)

On the land fell a calamity, one unknown to man;

one that had never been seen before,

one which could not be withstood.

A great storm from heaven...

A land-annihilating storm...

An evil wind, like a rushing torrent...

A battling storm joined by a scorching heat...

By day it deprived the land of the bright sun, in the evening the stars did not shine...

The people, terrified, could hardly breathe;

the evil wind clutched them, does not grant them another day...

Mouths were drenched with blood, heads wallowed in blood...

The face was made pale by the Evil Wind.

It caused cities to be desolated, houses to become desolate;

stalls to become desolate, the sheepfolds to be emptied...

Sumer’s rivers it made flow with water that is bitter;

its cultivated fields grow weeds, its pastures grow withering plants. 

_**The Lamentation Texts: The Lament for Sumer and Urim- 2024 BC** _

 

**Episode One: Chapter One**

**~AWAKEN~**

**2040 A.D.**

 

[Scene Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kk8PTkM40w)

 

 

_**“Dean?”** _

 

Who’s calling out his name?

 

Male. Familiar. The audio quality sucked though—coming across faint and muffled like there's fluid in his ears.

 

_**“Dean.”** _

 

What’s with this guy’s voice and why can’t he get a fix on a name? It’s on the tip of his tongue...

 

_**"Dean? Can you hear me?”** _

 

It’s low, strange and pulling at his mind like an edgy finger on a hair trigger. Its presence—all around him like air, but also grounding and material like he should be able to see it if he could see a goddamn thing. From the best he could ascertain—he’s submerged in some kind of ethereal-like pitch.

 

Except, there’s the suspended pinhole of light just beginning to shine through—projecting a beam of light out from it into the pitch. The muddied, tar-like quality of his surroundings swirling before the light.

 

_Droplets of blood snaking through clear water. Darkness clawing the dawn. Mists, eddy and thick, moving in front of headlights across country back roads at night._

 

Where was he exactly?

 

He focused on the light as if it would somehow help him get his bearings or at the very least, clue him in on what in the hell is going on.

 

Is it an exit or is that the way toward trouble? He can’t move closer or away no matter what the answer happens to be since he is held fast in place by an unseen force.

 

It doesn’t matter anyway.

 

Does it?

 

The light is growing. No, not growing—it's searching, and closing in. It's seeking him. He isn’t sure how he knows that or why it strikes him with such a volatile mix of fear and hope.

The pitch is suddenly hit by something similar to an eighteen wheeler going a hundred and ten. There are no sounds, but the whole place rocks from the force. The darkness begins to flipped end-over-end several times, but not in the jarring sort of way as the initial crash. The rolling is a smooth and fluid. A merry-go-round, vomity kind of motion.

It isn’t pleasant.

When the rolling finally stopped it was sudden and disorienting. He scanned his surroundings for the light and found it descending now rather than advancing from some unknown horizon like it had been doing before. He was laying on his back now, though he felt no surface below him. The closer the light got, the more aware he became of not being alone in the darkness. Figures were scurrying away from the light like rats in a sewer before the beam of a flashlight.

He became aware of the screams next. So many souls in anguish, the pleading—the sound of them gargling on their own blood as their bodies were ripped apart. He could hear the splashing and flailing about like fresh catch poured out on the deck of a fishing vessel. He knew some were being forced face down by demons attempting to drown them in their own excrements. Dean knew those sounds oh-so-well. After all, not only had he forced many to do the same himself, he was the one who invented that particular humiliating punishment during his first moments off the rack—when the anger within him had reached its peak. Completely undecernable from fear or ectasy.

He needed to impress Alastair, and to show his worth.

Besides, those folks had been bad after all. They’d known the rules. If they made a deal, too bad. They’d known Hell wasn’t a pleasure cruise. Dean wasn’t religious before coming here, and he had known. Whether they got there by earning it or being a desperate, self-loathing piece of shit like himself—it didn’t matter. Now, they’d have their faces rubbed into what they amounted to.

What he amounted to.

Oh yes, he was a new kind of animal alright. The stench of piss and shit mixed with that of burnt flesh and hair—it’s his napalm in the morning. All of it delivered to the back track of gurgling screams and howls of delight. He could almost always find a beat or melody in it to dance and hum along to as he worked.

The light was illuminating him now, flooding him with warmth in this oubliette of darkness and desolation. As the light got closer, the multitudes of laughter faded, leaving a solitary one—his own. He was panicking now even as he laughed.

He didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need that warmth, he didn’t want it. He doesn’t deserve it. He fought against it, swinging out to knock it away before clawing at his skin to rip the illumination from him—like it was burning everywhere it touched. It might as well have been.

While it wasn’t burning away flesh to reveal his innards, it was exposing his soul. In shame he tried to hide his face from it with bloodied hands from his torn flesh, but he couldn’t fight the pull to take just one more glance.

There was a stationary figure in the center of the light. The beam from it danced about like a fanboat’s searchlight scanning through hovering fog over the bayou at night. Yeah, it was looking for him.

He didn’t want to be found.

To his horror, the light came back around to fully focus on him once more, and he stilled before it.

He heard the echoing of his name that ended in a loud thunderous, “Dean Winchester!”  

Before his last name had finished booming throughout the pitch, the Being was in front of him.

Pure light!

It illuminated the Being from the inside out making its features hard to see in detail, but revealing enough that Dean knew it wasn’t human. He heard the multitude of demons who had been silent, start to scream in fear and rage at the sight of the creature.

He heard his maker—his saviour _—_ Alastair, enraged and crying out from a distance, “You, have no right here Celestial! You can’t just take! He’s mine!”

The creature, this _Celestial_ , never let its eyes leave Dean’s to look toward Alastair. Celestial’s wings—six in all—rose now so that Dean could see them. They were so apart of the light radiating through this creature, that Dean could just make out a single pair clear enough, while the other four could only be seen when the creature move them. Its armor—an intense blue grey steel—shined, but didn’t seem to reflect.

The exception was the blue stone set into the Celestial’s breastplate where Dean could see the reflection of what he’d become. As if Alastair knew what Dean saw there, the demon laughed, “What would you want with him anyway? Huh Celestial? Look at him, look at how twisted! _I_ rebuilt him you see. He exceeded expectations. Came to me broken—flawlessly so. Except for that pesky humanity in him. But I made short order of that.

“Got rid of it and now look! He’s stained with the shit of this place—right and proper. Just a touch and he’ll stain you too. It’s the kind even your good ol’ daddy can’t wash clean in all his indignant self-righteousness.”

Celestial replied in a language Dean didn’t know, it was loud—raining down thunder and lightning, his wings rising like the frill on a pissed off lizard. Yet, while Celestial turned his head toward Alastair, his eyes never deviated from Dean’s.

 _Blue eyes_ , unearthly and fierce. They bore into him, examining every nook and cranny until it found what it had been searching for. It’s gaze revealing what Dean feared most of all, unconditional _love_. Dean couldn’t fight the being in front of him. So, in a voice that came from him wrecked and defeated he begged, “Leave me? Please.”

The being shook its head. It reached out with its oddly angled arm and large hand, grabbing ahold Dean’s left shoulder in a vice grip.

Dean’s mind shook, releasing a flood of memories in a roller deck of images. Alastair's parting words shouted as if from behind a closed door, “Your mistake Celestial. You’ll see!”

Dean felt guilt, and he didn’t know why.

The rolling images paused from time to time—sliding into place like a [ film strip projector ](http://www.iretron.com/blog/posts/technology-flashback-1980s-filmstrip-projector/) from back when he was in school, but Dean wasn’t the one turning the knob at the sound of the ping. It was either the voice that had been calling out to him or the being of pure light who had refused to leave him in Hell calling all the shots.

Every time the stills stopped, they played out like a flickering film reel—complete with dust and scratches. Exactly like one of those kinemacolor films he’d dug up from the Bunker’s vault in his pursuit of vintage porn to vigorously commit to memory before slapping it up on eBay under the seller _Melies_a_Plenty._

He’s not much, but he’s one witty son of a bitch.

He tried to focus so he could make sense of what he was seeing or even why he was being made to see any of it in the first place. Some of the scenes he recognized.

Him snapping a picture on his phone before turning the tunes up to ear bleed levels. Sam flailing awake—slapping at the spoon stealthy positioned in his mouth.

 

“Ha ha, very funny.”

 

Dean giving Sam his best justification for being a dick. Sam not buy it.

 

“Man, we’re not kids anymore Dean.”

 

His gargantuan younger brother turning murderous eyes to him which made Dean feel as excited as a puppy being tossed a stick. Sam’s slight of a glare serving as a green light indicating that the chase was on for who’d call truce first.

Another familiar scene played out as the other faded into black—the moment he and Sam first met Gabriel.

 _‘That janitorial onesie should have been our first clue the guy was off_ _,’_ Dean thought as he watched the scene play out. Except, he couldn't get past sizing up dweeb and loner to see the threat right in front of them. Sam appeared too busy throwing the guy heart eyes—now that Dean was seeing it from this point of view. He made the decision to never ask Sam what the deal was with them two ‘cause he was damn sure that he never— _ever—_ wanted to hear the answer.

God help him if his brother started flailing while attempting to offer one up. He wouldn’t even have to _say_ anything and it would be fuck tons of TMI.

With every memory he could place, there were others he couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Like the one he was not watching play out in what appeared to be a park. It was sunny and warm from the look of the clothes he was wearing. Two boys that looked about eight years old running after him, both with honey colored, wavy hair. Dean had a football tucked to him. He watch as he—well the _him_ in the scene turned back to check the boys. He laughed as they tackled him to the ground, but not before tossing the pigskin at the last moment to Sam who entered the frame of the vision. His brother caught it with ease and then proceeded to add his unnatural mass to what amounted to a tickle torture pile.

Dean felt emotions flooding from the scene into him. Happiness, contentment and a fierce protective bond he had only felt for his brother extended to both boys.

Confusion flowed in behind the other emotions as he tried to place the scene that played out like a memory, but he came up with nothing. Despite the awkwardness of such a cheesy scene—he found himself wanting to keep watching just to see how it would turn out. Unfortunately, just like when a show is gettin’ good and the power goes out—the pseudo-memory switched to another he couldn't recall having ever actually experienced.

Gabriel was saying something to a slightly older version of himself. What exactly, he didn’t know since the audio on this one was muted. They were in the Bunker, standing in the library. Dean watched as he flipped Gabriel off. There didn’t seem to be any malice behind it—from what he could tell at least. The archangel was about to respond when an older version of one of boys from the previous scene entered the frame. The boy was perhaps twelve or thirteen, his hair longer and shaggy, reminding him of Sam’s own mop. The young man’s expression was excited as he grabbed ahold of the archangel, wrapping his arms around Gabriel as far as they’d go. The archangel hugged him back, his eyes closing for a moment like he was committing it to memory before pulling back and ruffling the boy’s hair. Dean didn’t know how to reconcile the Gabriel he actually knew and this one he was being shown. Tenderness, let alone hugging a child was simply something Gabriel wouldn't be a fan of.

Would he?

While Dean mulled that question over, the boy strode up to the playback version of himself, and gave the same excited hug to him as well. Dean mouthed what looked like _goodnight_. He really wished he could hear what was being said in case a name was dropped to help him identify the kid.

As the boy unwrapped his arms from around him, the second boy from before stepped into the frame. He was lanky, and his once honey-colored hair was now dark brown—sitting haphazardly over a set of blue eyes. Blue eyes that were nearly blocked by the book he was reading which was nearly the size of the boy himself. Dean wondered how the boy was even managing to hold it out in front of him like he was. It had to be heavy. Looking for the title, he found _[Oahspe](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oahspe:_A_New_Bible)_  written in large golden embossed lettering across the front. Looking over the worn brown leather binding, Dean recognized it as a book Bobby once owned— the exact same copy actually. It only added to his confusion, since that book went up in flames along with Bobby’s house.

Yet, there it was.

The version of himself in the scene grabbed the boy who was performing the great art of ignoring by continuing past Dean without looking up. He hugged the boy tightly to him before he began to poke the boy’s sides—which nearly caused the book to fall out of the boy’s grip. The young man’s faux seriousness fell in short order and he began to laugh. He didn’t allow Dean to hold him for long as he half-heartedly shoved at the older version of himself. He took the book from the boy and said something to him that Dean couldn’t quite make out just reading lips. In response, the boy turned and hugged Gabriel quickly before snagging the book back from Dean. He walked away with the other boy who had waited for him. The volume turned up enough to where Dean could hear himself tease affectionately, “Kid’s never going to get laid.”

The scene was so foreign, yet familiar. It tugged at a place in Dean’s chest. At that moment, the scene began to flip like it had come to the end of its reel. Like the last one, Dean attempted to mentally grasp it, to make it stay a moment longer, but he might as well have been trying to tackle the wind. The images began to cycle again, and after what felt like an eternity, they began to slow once more.

They finally came to a stop. The scene was of a beach. Blinding white sand baking under an afternoon sun. Patches of sea oats and running grass decorated the enclave of dunes, with a calm sea several yards out as the backdrop. Unlike the scenes from before where he was an observer, he was now physically there reliving a moment he actually could place—vivid, as if it hadn't passed by many years before. An eight year old Sam standing beside him with his big doofy grin like they’d won something besides twenty minutes in a sand box. Sam's wise eyes squinting against the harsh afternoon sun. They hurt for Dean to look into—those eyes. Especially when Sam looked at him like his big brother could do no wrong.

He could though, and he would. Repeatedly.

Failure is his middle name.

There was always something else behind those eyes too that made Dean nervous. Especially when Sam would be fired up over some shit or another. A flicker of something Dean couldn’t quite pin down, but looked an awful lot like Charlie McGee’s agent torching glare. Except, Sam put even that to shame. In fact, he had seen it minutes ago just before he and Sam had snuck out of the motel after their dad left.

John had given them both orders to stay put and had handed down to Dean the silent warning to obey orders. John’s departing glare let Dean know exactly who'd be held accountable if they set foot outside.

"I want to go the beach! Not fair! We never get to do anything," Sam said as soon as John was out the door.

Sam’s voice had wavered and hitched—close to shedding tears. That's all it took, and Dean knew what he had to do.

Now, here they were—both of them running to the sea—stripping to their boxers as they laughed the whole way. Sam's laughter filled with the simple joys of being an eight year old kid, and Dean’s laughter having everything to do with being the one who made it possible. The only thing making his happiness less than legit was the worry sparked when he looked at Sam's frame. He was skinny—too skinny. Dean didn't want to think about what he'd have to do to score some cash later, but Sam wasn't going to just eat stale snacks tonight, or drink rust tinted water from the faucet that smelled like demons had bathed in it.

They dove into the surprisingly warm waters in unison, but each in their separate worlds. Dean let the air in his lungs out a little so his body could sink enough below the surface, yet not touching the sea floor—suspended in his own private natatorial world—a death without dying. He wondered if real dying would be like this. Letting go. He wondered if it was like this before he was born, in his mom’s belly. It was a strange thought that occurred to him more often than he’d like to admit because with it was a yearning to be with her—safe. Just like he did right now adrift under a calm sea. He felt at peace, but there was something missing too.

Someone.

He wasn’t sure how long he'd been under, but he became aware of his surroundings when he heard Sam call out for him from above—faint and muffled from the water filling his ears. Sam was beckoning him to arise from the depths; to come back to him. Except, it wasn't Sam. It was someone else, someone familiar.

Back within himself, all images gone and replaced with perpetual darkness, Dean began to assess his status. Was he underwater? Was he trapped somewhere in his mind while his body drowned? He was cold he realized for the first time, but the chill was under his skin, penetrating to bone, rather than frigid waters enveloping him in some icy coffin. Besides, he was breathing. At least, he thought he was. His inhales and exhales were too shallow to determine for certain.

 

**_“Dean?! Please!”_ **

 

This time the voice was clearer, and his name a desperate plea which bounced around in his skull like a ping pong ball that got louder with each ricochet. He attempted to open his eyes but found the effort a total waste. Not a damn thing was doing what he told it too. Story of his life—which further pissed him off.

 

**“You need to wake up!”**

**“Damn it.”** Dean heard as strong hands gripped his shoulders painfully, shaking him.

 _'Well, that's just fuckin' rude,'_ he thought.

 

"Dean!"

This time, his name hit his rapidly clearing ears wrecked and angry which did absolutely nothing to chill out the frustration he was already contending with. In that same moment there was a change in the air around him forcing his mind to shift gears from frustration and kicking it up a notch into frantic. He didn't have to be told that there was trouble on its way or that there was a threat that needed to be eliminated—he could _feel_ it. He attempted to open his mouth, but found the muscles in his jaw stiff and as unresponsive as the rest of his body was. If he didn't move soon he would be a sitting duck while putting his rude rescuer in danger.

He really wished the guy shouting down at him would get off his case for a minute though so he could focus. His tongue moved to utter a complaint of _'_ _fuck off! '_ and _' what in the hell's going on?!_ _'_ , but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth along with his tongue. The most he could manage was a weak moan as his vocal cords came online. Finally!

He was about to try once again when a second voice called out quietly, “Father, clock's ticking! We'll need to carry them out.”

Dean noted that this other person, also male, had a tone much calmer than the first. The voice was deep, but young, and it heightened some instinctual part within him—an overwhelming need to protect and to jump in front of the danger that was imminent. He’d never heard this voice before. Yet, some base part of himself felt a familiarity towards it. Before he could ruminate anymore on the odd ass emotions that were churning, there were suddenly more hands on him and then strong arms around his waist. He felt himself being hoisted up, and hefted onto a solid shoulder. Dean let out a huff as air punched from his stomach when his handler adjusted Dean’s body with a bounce.

“Henry, where’s your father?” the more frantic man—who had attempted to wake Dean just moments before—asked in haste. Realizing it was also the voice of the person carrying him, Dean attempted to ask the rapidly growing list of questions he now had when a third male voice answered at a further distance to Dean's six o'clock, high.

“Pop's clearing the way. We located a back way out of this shit hole. We shouldn't be spotted. Follow me, I'll show you where."

The tone from this third guy—Henry, was just as deep and coming from someone likely as young as the second. Except, where the one before had been calm, Henry's carried the charge of excitement like some sports commentator. Dean couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could certainly hear the adrenaline high the guy was on by his tone. Dean also noted Henry’s voice wasn’t triggering him quite like the other two voices were, but that latent feeling that Henry was someone he’d throw himself on a grenade for was there. So was the acknowledgement he’d be doing it to save his brother a greater pain.

_'What the hell does that even mean?’_

“Good! Henry, you take Sam. James, cover us. If we run into trouble, you know what must be done,” the voice of the person carrying him ordered. Now that the man toting him was commanding—there was a millennia of experience behind the tone. It shook the name loose that had been on the tip of his tongue since he first heard it.

He knew exactly whose shoulder he was a burden on.

“Cas...” Dean was able to manage even though it came from him dry and broken.

“It’s okay, Dean. I have you.”

Dean could sense movement all around him. “Sam...” Dean rasped out next.

Everyone was running now. Why were they running? Where were they? Where were they going?

“He’s safe. You’re both safe now,” he heard his best-friend say as everything went silent and dark.

 

**~*~**

 

Dean woke as lightening quick energy surged through him from the base of his spine, to the crown of his head causing his upper half to lift from its prone position—his back slamming steel rod straight. He silently cursed at the involuntary reboot of his central nervous system. His frozen muscles from before had thawed out to the heat of searing pain as tremors wracked his body. His head was also slamming with the mother of all migraines as each relentless throb matched every beat of his heart—punctuating it with a delightful swell of nausea.

Barely comforted by the recognition that he was in his room inside the Bunker via blurred vision and familiar scents, he relented to his body’s protests and fell back onto the bed. He winced with eyes closed tight. Between the pain his whole body was in and the tremors that literally had the bed vibrating like one of those coin magic massage mattresses he beloved so much—getting out of bed simply wasn't an option.

“Cas!” he called out—his voice still strained and thick. Swallowing back the vomit he was surely going to spew, he attempted to call out again.

“Cas!” he yelled out clearer.

A moment later his best friend was standing beside him, the familiar rustle of wings signaling Dean to open his eyes. “I’m here, Dean.” The angel's expression was an odd mix of somber and relief.

“Water,” Dean rasped as he reached out to the pitcher on the nightstand with a shaky hand. It didn't quite make it before his arm fell limp and useless beside him.

A moment later Dean was being lifted with a firm hand at his back and a blue plastic cup was put to his lips. Dean took it with both hands, which to his surprise, stilled the tremors in his arms and hands. Dean clasped teeth and lips around the edge of the cup—needy and urgent like a man dying of thirst. He tilted the cup, and as the cool fluid entered his mouth to flow down his throat he could hear himself making slurping sounds and groans in between every other swallow. He probably should've been embarrassed by the downright lewd sounds he was making, but frankly he couldn't give less-than-halfa'-shit.

He tried to swallow as fast as he sipped, but when most of it ended up spilling down the corners of his mouth and soaking into the unfamiliar shirt he was wearing, he gave up that civil notion.

Once the cup was drained, Dean shoved it blindly towards Castiel who fumbled as he took it. The angel lowered Dean back onto the bed with his other hand which was still cradling Dean's back between his shoulder blades. The Hunter opened his eyes just in time to see Cas’ hand shaking slightly as he returned the cup to the nightstand which clanked against the pitcher.

Rather than question Castiel about it, Dean closed his eyes tight and reopened them. His vision was still a little blurry like the gunky film over eyes the morning after an alcohol induced blackout. Thankfully, it was clearing rapidly. Looking up at his friend he began register details.

Gone was the trench coat and over-sized three piece suit. The signature outfit his friend wore like some goddamn superhero getup had been replaced with a form fitting [ navy blue military sweater ](http://www.galaxyarmynavy.com/prodimages/6345navy-big.jpg) , [ dark well-worn jeans ](http://www.pinterest.com/pin/306455949619560938) and a [ thigh holster ](http://pinterest.com/pin/30540103699500114) , that from the looks of it, was packing a [ MK23 ](http://whichgun.com/img/firearms/pistols/heckler-koch/mk23/1.jpg).

Between Castiel's anxious state he was trying too hard to hide—which made it appear more obvious, and the lack of familiarity in his attire, it was safe to say Dean's confusion was firmly set.

“W—what happened?” he finally asked when it was clear Castiel wasn't going to pony up first.

“What do you remember?”

Castiel's tone was level and practiced as he dismissed Dean's question with one of his own. It grated Dean's nerves, but he decided not to engage his friend in a verbal boxing match over who asked who first. The way he figured it, the quickest way was through. For now at least.

“The last I remember is the four of us getting jacked by someone just outside the Bunker. You and Gabriel not being able to move right before Sam and I got Agent K-ed by some kind of circular device. A flash of light. That's the last I remember.”

Castiel's expression was one of disappointment, and his eyes shifted to the doorway with defeat written all over his slumping posture as his shoulders pulled inward almost protectively. When the dark cerulean blues turned back to Dean, they were glassy and emotionally detached.

“I had feared that might be the case,” he said quietly. A weighted sigh following it up.

“Wait. What?” Dean lifted himself up on shaky elbows— _'_ _possible brain aneurysm be damned_ _'_ —to survey his surroundings. He was in his room at the Bunker, but things looked plenty kinds of off to him. There were shelves where none had been before. Photos of various scenery he didn't remember taking, posing with people he either didn't remember posing with or simply didn't even know from Jack. Various maps he didn’t remember tacking up were on the walls too. On his weapons rack there were guns and knives he didn’t recognize. His widening eyes trailed around the room slowly taking stock before landing on Castiel once more who was frowning down at him.

“Cas, what’s going on?” Dean asked with a slight hint of panic edging his words. His head throbbed harder as his heart began beating faster.

“Dean, we have much to discuss-” Castiel started, but was cut off when someone else entered the room.

“Father! Uncle's awa—” The man who had just bounded into the room stopped his sentence short. Dean watched the young man as he approached the bed apprehensively, "—awake," he finished, his tone one of awe. An expression of love reflected in the relaxing of the man's brow as he stood just behind Castiel. The stare-down caused Dean to feel squirmy inside his skin as he merely stared back.

Something was suspiciously familiar in the guy's messy, just-out-of-bed hair and three days worth of scruff. The blue of his eyes was also reminiscent of a memory now faded beyond recall. Even in the way his head leaned to the side was urging Dean to fit the pieces together. There was also a different sort of familiarity in the smile that lit his face. Dominate elements in the mixed expressions the young man was displaying since bursting into the room. They were bits of mannerisms Dean had seen a million times in the mirror. The young man stared at him like he was waiting for something from Dean, but not knowing what exactly made Dean feel awkward. He turned his eyes from the young man back to Castiel hoping he'd get an answer. Instead, Castiel was frowning more now—as if that was even possible—before turning his head to address the other man.

“Thank you, James. Let Gabriel know that Dean does not remember past our first run in with Pahaliah in 2015 so, I'm certain it will be the same with Sam.”

James’ smile faded at whatever implication the news had as it hit him. He nodded once, eyes falling to a spot on the floor. “Yes, Father,” he responded as he turned and made his way to leave the room. Just before he vanished from view, James turned to give Dean another glance. An all too familiar frown swept across his features, and then he was gone.

Dean turned back to Castiel who was already looking at him.

“Cas, what the hell?”

“Like I said Dean, we have much to discuss.”

 

**~*~**

 

Sam and Dean made their way to the third table closest to the war room. Both looked hungover, walking like old men waiting for a hip to break if they moved too fast or stepped too hard. They simply glanced at each other as they rounded the corner in silence. Speaking wasn't necessary at this point since all that really mattered was that they were both okay, and all their parts were still attached.

Their seating arrangement was mutually instinctual as they remained mindful of their position relative to the exit. This was definitely a situation in which their nerves were twitching—putting them on high alert. Having grabbed a spare chair from the middle table Sam placed it at the head of the table which put him diagonal from his brother who sat at his right. Sam's back was to the entry, but he needed to have the rest of the room covered visually and he knew Dean had the entry covered. Neither had to voice this tactical vantage.

Gabriel sat across from Dean which put him to Sam’s left. Castiel remained standing, his back resting against the nearest column to Gabriel's left. His arms were folded across his chest as he avoided eye contact with everyone present by focusing his attention on the back of the chair in front of him.

Gabriel was the complete opposite of Castiel's tense posturing. His legs were crossed at the ankles with his black tactical boot clad feet perched on the table's edge. Dean noted that they were the same type of boots everyone besides he and Sam were wearing. Gabriel looked different with his few weeks worth of beard and several months of hair growth which just about reached his shoulders. He adorned a black form fitting short sleeve shirt. The camo-green military jacket was still apart of his attire, but hung from the back of the wooden chair he was perched in. An armband holster was fixed around his left bicep which Dean was willing to bet housed a pistol, but it was hidden between arm and chest as Gabriel's hands were leisurely resting on his stomach, fingers clasped. Unlike the jeans Cas was wearing, Gabriel was wearing black, multi-pocket military trousers.

The two other men, Henry and James—as Cas had hastily introduced them—stood in the background. Henry was flipping an eight inch blade knife back and forth from a saber to reverse grip in practiced fluid motions. He wore gear much like Castiel. The difference being his military sweater was black with a leather chest holster that crisscrossed in the front carrying what looked like two .45 caliber Colts in the side holders—Dean couldn't be sure.  James, was leaning against the row of file boxes with his arms folded across his chest in yet another all too familiar way. He was outfitted more like Gabriel, except his shirt was long sleeved. He carried no weapons that Dean could see. Both of the young men were studying Sam and Dean with a mental magnifying glass—their expressions cautious.

“Okay, Cas. I'm sure I'll regret asking it, but you mind filling us in?” Dean asked, blinking before setting his glare on the angel. He punctuated the expression with a sideways grin he saved for the moments when he was right close to decking someone. His hands were folded—fingers entwined on top of the table.

“I’m not exactly sure where to start.”

“How about we start with what year this is and how in the hell do you two have kids?” Dean asked smoothly with a hint of something akin to disbelief. He knew _father_ could just be titles the two guys called Castiel and Gabriel by, but there was no denying how much James and Henry resembled Castiel and Gabriel either.

“The year is 2040… AD,” Castiel leveled his eyes on Dean’s. Sam sat up straighter hearing the news, but Dean didn’t move.

“James and Henry were raised by all four of us. They are our _kids_ ,” Castiel closed the last word with a bit of snark to highlight the condescending nature of the word. How he had held back from throwing up air quotes was a testament to his restraint.

“What?!" Sam and Dean exclaimed in unison, with Dean nearly choking on his own spit. They turned to the young men who were eyeing them back expressionless—guarded.

Gabriel chuckled softly. Sam and Dean turn to the Archangel. While the sound was happy, his eyes gave away a sadness that hadn’t been seen since they had trapped him in a ring of Holy Fire and made him face his family issues.

"Yeah, definitely regretting,” Dean mumbled as he turned eyes to Castiel once more. “So, what? Next you’re going to tell us we quit our day job for the whole domestic gig like wholesome civilians and decided adoption was for us?"

Dean couldn't help his sarcastic tone. What he was hearing was just downright ridiculous, and if true, one hundred and ten percent reckless. There was no going civilian when you're a Hunter, and by the look of the gear the young men were packing it proved his point. He was also pretty sure adoption was a negatory. James and Henry had _Winchester_ written all over them. Maybe he’d royally fucked up? Again. At the rate he loved them and left them it was only a matter of time. Right? He internally bulked at the idea of Sam fucking up though. And around the same time? Nah. That was something Dean was unable to process.

Wait.

Strike that.

Sam getting with a chick and her staying alive long enough to actually spit out a rugrat—now _that_ had him unable to process. By the look on his brother's face, his gears were stuck on the same point.

‘ _Damn._ ’

The pounding in Dean’s skull was beginning to rage again.

"Yeah, cause we’re primo applicants for adoption and domestication—what with our semiautomatic and automatic weaponry and all. Smartass," Gabriel interjected with a sarcastic quirk of his lips and furrowed brow. He flipped Dean off for good measure before continuing, "I can hear your wheels turning Dean-o. While it crossed my mind  more than a few times back in the good ol’ days when I saw you two as a chronic case of hemorrhoids—no one poked holes in your raincoats whilst on one of your random trysts with Ms. Syphilis’ and Madame Trichomoniasis’. James and Henry are biologically _ours_ ," he informed as his index finger circled exaggeratedly to indicate the four of them.

Sam was looking at Gabriel now with a mixture of shock and curiosity, “How's that even possible?”

“A bottle of Chardonnay, candles and Barry White,” Gabriel replied with a wink at Sam who rolled his eyes before giving Gabriel what looked like bitchface number sixty-four. That one was always utilized when Sam felt his comedic timing was misappropriated.

 _'Seriously, what had Sam expected? For me to actually be on the level for more than a few seconds? Ameture,’_ Gabriel thought to himself as he answered Sam's number sixty-four bitchface with a suggestive wiggle his brows. He was just puckering up to kiss the air in Sam's direction when he was rudely interrupted.

“Gabriel! You’re not helping,” Castiel reprimanded, looking at him briefly before turning to Dean.

Henry chuckled despite the tension in the room and gave his father a barely indiscreet thumbs up to which Gabriel shot him a mimicked gun salute with an answering wink.

Castiel sighed loudly before continuing, “Our children are the products of genetic engineering. Not copulation. That’s physically impossible even for angels with or without human vessels—”

“Oh ho,ho,ho, I know for a fact a little bump-n-grind between two manly men and two stud muffin angels is physically possible,” Gabriel said with faux seriousness—his smirk barely contained as his mouth twitched under the strain to keep it under wraps.

“I was talking about...” Castiel caught himself. He was about to go into awkward details about human anatomy and angelic reproduction when it hit him that Gabriel was tossing bait in the hopes of hooking him. It had almost worked. His brother knew that particular topic was off limits, and it only served to entice the archangel all the more. Gabriel meant well, but he never knew when to leave well enough alone. Especially when he felt he was looking after his own. Castiel’s brow tightened, “nevermind.”

Gabriel’s playful expression fell and was replaced with something to the tune of insubordination—but he relented.

Meanwhile, Dean had put his face in his hands and they remained planted there since the first innuendo that Gabriel decided to roll with. He’d always suspected Sam was on the Kinsley slide, but he’d hoped his brother had some fuckin’ standards. Not that he believed Sam and Gabriel were actually doing it. He chanced a one eyed peek at the archangel between his bird and index finger.

 _‘_ Cause no.

_‘ Why in the hell am I even going there? Sonofabitch probably intended that to happen if that smug mug of his is anything to go by .’_

Dean shook his head as his hands rubbed down his face and into his lap with a slap that he hoped confirmed just how barely tolerable he was finding consciousness at the moment. He leaned back in his chair.  His frustration and exhaustion evident in his tone, “Okay. Gabriel? No more talking.”

Gabriel went to open his mouth in a retort, but Dean shot up his hand palm facing towards the archangel cutting him off at the pass. “Don’t." His body language left no doubt how serious he was, “Just, don’t.”

“Fine,” Gabriel replied. His humor of before replaced with loud and clear indignation.

Sam cleared his throat to break up the tension in the room. It was time to get back on track before his brother and Gabriel started whipping their egos out to compare sizes. No one wanted to be put through that right now.

He determined getting away from the subject of how Henry and James came to be and redirecting the Q and A toward the circumstances leading to him and Dean waking up twenty-five years in the future was the safest route, “Cas, just… start at the beginning. Why don’t we remember anything past 2015? Let—let’s just start there.”

Finally Castiel dropped his arms as he moved from his position at the column and took a seat across from Dean. He gave a short nod in Sam’s direction confirming he saw the wisdom in younger Winchester’s suggestion. He took a deep inhale, and a long steading exhale.

“The person you remember attacking you? His name was Pahaliah. An angel who possessed a very rare skill set—unlimited power to travel time and the ability to alter fate—”

“I thought fate couldn’t be altered?” Sam asked.

Cas gave a short nod, “It can’t, as far as we know—except by Pahaliah. He was the last of the Norns and never was he far from Father's side. The last he was heard from was the day Father left. It was assumed Pahaliah went with him since Father always kept him close. Either, that or he went into hiding like so many others. His ability and close proximity to God made him a target, like Metatron before him.”

“So, you think God had something to do with Pahaliah showing up?” Sam asked.

Castiel shook his head, “No, nor was he acting on his own behalf. Pahaliah was following orders of someone else entirely.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“He never supplied a name. He only called the person by the title of _Lord_. We have come to suspect he was acting on behalf of an Annunian--a god named Nergal.”

“Annunian? Isn’t Nergal a Sumero-Akkadian deity?” asked Sam.

Castiel faltered. He hadn’t meant to speak of the Annuna just yet. Nor had he calculated having to debrief the brothers on Nergal’s reign just yet. He should have known better when it came to Sam. Luckily Gabriel seemed to have already anticipated such a probability.

“Just a fancy title the Sumerian gods called themselves before there were humans. I’m sure you could find his Annunian association on a dust layered scroll lying around here somewhere. Before his current stint as Supreme Asshat, he was once a benefactor of humanity. Answering prayers and watching over crops in return for beer and free food.”

Gabriel didn’t miss the cynical huff from Dean. “What? I shit you not, your species has always been crafty little shits at making gods to roll over themselves in the desperate attempt get you to rub their bellies if even for a second. Why do you think so many resented your kind from the jump?”

When there was no answer he continued, “Suffice it to say, Nergal grew real tired of serving the ones who should be serving,” he sent a side glance to Castiel--his tone becoming softer, “it went to hell from there.” He watched Castiel’s whole countenance fall. Wounds of the ancient past reopening just below the surface. He instantly regretted having be the bearer of the the truth.

“Long story short—imprisoned. Well, until several years ago.”

He decisively left off the part about it being many more years than several. Hand feeding the facts to Sam and Dean had been one of the only things he and Castiel had both agreed on when it came to the dynamic duo waking with no knowledge of anything relevant to their current situation. The intent wasn’t to deceive, rather, it was to give the Winchester’s some kind of grounding point so that when the real funhouse bits were unveiled, they wouldn’t shit themselves. Though, he had still pressed the point to Castiel that when they took them outside the Bunker, making them wear some adult sized diapers was just being practical.

In perfect timing to Gabriel’s thoughts, Sam gave a short nod which Gabriel found far too amusing even though he knew it had been given in response his rather watered down clarification rather than at his thoughts about the possible need for a pack of Depends when they went on their field trip.

Meanwhile, Castiel decided to not let silence take root wherein Sam could find more questions to ask in regards to Annuna or Nergal so he replied to Sam’s nod by continuing, “From what we know, after harvesting our DNA, Pahaliah left us unharmed. We can only ascertain our lives continued while he returned to his own time. Apparently—”

Dean cut him off, “Whoa, wait. Harvested? Please tell me it was Maury Povich with the cotton swab style and not the alternative,” Dean shuddered dramatically for emphasis.

Castiel squinted in confusion—his head leaning to the side, “I don’t—”

“Yeah, you know what? Nevermind,” Dean snapped, “just, go on,” he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms.

Castiel sighed, his eyes turning up and across the room to James who had just shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Henry stopped flipping his blade, becoming more alert to his cousin’s presence as well. Castiel knew Henry could see what he could. Anger was brewing under James' otherwise calm exterior. No one could save James from seeing his hopes shattered. Hopes his son had held fast to when he first entertained the possibilities of Dean being returned to them. He had tried to warn James—tried to prepare him, but James wouldn’t—or couldn’t allow probabilities to deter him. Looking at his son’s cascade of expressions, Castiel could see the cuts being left as each shard fell through his son’s grip as he realized there was a stranger in the place where his father should be. Castiel empathized with the impact this was having on his son better than anyone else in the room. But, unlike James, he had come to terms with the reality that all good dreams are destined to fade and hope is far too fragile to hold onto so tightly. At least, he was telling himself those truths, and with each retelling he had convinced himself he had indeed come to terms.

Convinced the aching in his chest was unpartitioned and solely for his son’s suffering in light of his fading dream, Castiel turned his eyes away and was met with Dean’s hard set expression. It filled him with a sudden urge to shake the man in front of him. He had almost forgotten about this version of Dean. It was the complete opposite of what the human had become over the years, especially towards him. It gnarled up his insides so tight he scarcely could breathe. He had no interest in acknowledging the sensation even as he struggled silently for a full inhale. Shoving it down, he decided to continue before his emotions lashed out and betrayed him.

“Pahaliah showed up again, but in 2014 which completely upset the timeline of events in ways..." he trailed off before finishing. He had to keep reminding himself what information was important and which would simply cause more confusion or even pain. He needed to tread lightly. To speak with his head, not his heart.

 _‘ Stick to facts and be not persuaded by nostalgia or lov —_ _familiarity,’_ he began to recite inwardly as he continued, "he created an alternate reality essentially. We remember 2014 onwards much differently than the both of you, and the harvest never occurred on this side of the timeline due large and in part to the fact that on Pahaliahs’ 2014 visit he had in his possession Henry and James. They were six months old at the time.

“Pahaliah informed us briefly of the harvest that had—or would have—occurred. Unfortunately, he gave an even briefer explanation as to why it had been done in the first place. Why that particular time or why any of us had been specifically chosen at all.

“He did reveal to us that he made the choice to betray his master once he became suspicious that his Lord’s intentions went beyond bringing order and rule to humanity. So, the angel stepped into the future to take a look. What he found merited disloyalty and betrayal.”

Gabriel interjected, “To a fossil like Pahaliah, rebellion was never an option. Death before dishonor was a code they one hundred and ten percent got behind.”  

Castiel continued, “He told us that he had intended to destroy all the DNA that created James and Henry as well as the infants themselves. He never said why he changed his mind on the latter plan, and instead brought them to us. Likewise, he never revealed why he brought them to us in 2014 rather than 2015. We were left to conclude he had felt the time was crucial—beneficial in some aspect.

“Once he handed them over to us, Pahaliah ended his own life to ensure his master could never use him again to travel back and retrieve the children. With the divergence of the present, we can only surmise he had hoped it might upset the future enough that whatever it was he witnessed might never come to pass. There’s more to the story obviously, but the present circumstance is summed up by the four of us taking the children in. We tested them to be sure that they were created from our genetic material—it was conclusive. Pahaliah had been telling the truth. There is no other parentage. We named them, raised them, and taught them everything we knew.”

Castiel looked past Dean and motioned with his hand, “Henry was created using the DNA of Sam and Gabriel. Biologically, he is both human and angel. A Nephilim by title, but certainly not quite by definition.  Sam and Gabriel raised him as their son in every sense of the word.”

Henry stepped forward and made his way around to stand at Gabriel’s side. Sam watched his approach and found he couldn’t take his eyes off of him—dumbfounded by how much he could see of himself intermingled with the traits of Gabriel’s vessel.

Gabriel addressed Sam as if they were the only ones in the room, his eyes firmly locked onto the Man of Letters, “You named him Henry after your grandfather. This is Henry Winchester Jr. I gave him his angelic name, Shamsiel—named after a very dear friend of mine who died during the Purge of the Nephilim,” Gabriel turned his eyes to Sam and saw the questioning expression there. This Sam didn't know the story of the Purge yet.

"A story for another time." Gabriel’s features were somber as he continued, “Our son has your smarts and the keen intuition that the Winchester bloodline is renowned for. He has my cunning and brilliantly irreverent sense of humor—if I do say so myself. Wait 'til you see his other skills,” Gabriel looked to Henry who was rolling his eyes.

“His hunting instincts are unmatched and his discipline as a soldier are the likes of which are unseen on Earth or Heaven—except by James here. Together, they are a sight to behold,” Gabriel added and ended it in a whistle.

“And you're successfully scarring me for life Pops,” Henry said to his father.

James gave a small chuckle and a shake of his head as his cousin’s awkwardness became evident. He glanced at the floor before turning his attention to Dean, who neither turned around or acknowledge the compliment his uncle had given to him as well. At least Sam was showing guarded interest and a flash of relief or pride—maybe both. Dean, this figure who just got told he had a son was reacting to the news with what he could only chalk up to indifference and agitation.

James could feel the slow burn of rage he was working hard to keep coiled tight. If it unravelled, he wouldn’t be in control. What he needed to help him out, he couldn’t have. His body shivered at the mere thought of getting a hit of Shade. With it, he could fade into the shadows and feel absolutely nothing at all. Henry’s movement brought his awareness forward from the dark places his thoughts were heading. By time his attention was back at the scene playing out before him, Henry was already next to him again as if he knew where James had gone. Instead of looking at James, Henry was still looking at Sam.

“Just in case you're wondering, I was proud to call you dad,” Henry informed. The same somber expression Gabriel wore moments before washing over the nephilim's features.

“Was?” Sam asked, “So, I take it we were dead?”

Henry nodded, “It’ll be six years tomorrow.”

“So, what? You found a way to bring us back?” Dean interrupted—aiming his words toward Castiel, “Since when has that ever been a great idea? And you…” Dean pointed and accusatory finger toward Castiel, “...should've known better."

“We didn’t, Dean,” Castiel nearly shouted, but adjusted his tone to a calmer one even though inside he was anything but calm, “it was your express orders that none of us were to lift a finger to raise you or Sam."

While Dean could hear the sincerity there, he could also clearly see the regret written all over the angel’s face at having to carry out such an order. It made his stomach churn as the after tastes of a long forgotten memory floated up, but not quite to the surface—just out of reach. It left him feeling guilty, even though he didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling guilty about.

“When your DNA was taken and used to create James and Henry, it appears clones of the two of you were created as well. Perhaps as a backup. We have no way to know for sure. Your creation was meant to be a close kept secret or buried all together. When Pahaliah betrayed his Lord by stealing away the boys, he had no idea of your existence. Otherwise he would have destroyed you as he had the leftover DNA. Your existence is the only reason we have entertain the possibility that Pahaliah was working for Nergal. Until then, we really had no idea who Pahaliah’s Lord likely was.”

“Yeah, but we’re still not positive on that front either,” Gabriel interjected. The tone he was using gave Dean the impression this was a regular debate between the two of them.

“No,” Cas conceded, “but it’s of no import at this point either.” He then continued, “You’re vessels were put in cryo stasis in an underground facility. James found out about your status a few months ago, and we began planning your retrieval. All clones or Replicants as they are called, seem to have a cell memory. This is why you are unable to remember beyond the day the DNA was taken. Likewise, since your DNA was taken during a time line before Pahaliah handed James and Henry over to us, the both of you have no memory of that event or all that followed.”

James spoke up then, “After we got you out we ran tests. Your DNA sequencing is consistent with what we find in Replicants—”

“So, are these Replicants something you see all the time?” Sam asked.

James shook his head, “No, nothing close. But we’ve had some trouble over the years with a few. Their sequencing showed a subtle maker that I at first thought was a manufacturing defect, but the encoding was consistent. I was able to crack it and now I know the markers are a manufacturing stamp. While your genetic code shares the manufacturing stamp, there’s something unique about your sequencing—anomalies. It appears someone has made modifications. I’m trying to decode the entirety of your genome and figure out what modifications were made. We gave you both a Hunter’s funeral, and we wiped down any physical connection you would have to anything around which means we don’t have pre-dna to compare the sequences against. We just have mine and Henry’s, so it’s taking some time.”

Sam shifted in his seat in unease as a thought occurred to him, “Okay, so that explains our bodies guys, but what about our souls? I mean, you said these bodies are clones or Replicants—or whatever—that they were made years ago, and put on ice. But, how did we—I mean the part that makes us, us—our souls, get shoved back inside? I don’t feel soulless.”

“Oh, your souls are intact,” Gabriel informed, “but we can’t even hazard a guess at how Nergal was able to obtain them or even why he would even want too. He hates you two.”

Castiel added, “Not just that, but Heaven has been cut off to anything other than human souls for years, it is impenetrable.” He saw the questions rising in Sam’s expressions, and he found he couldn’t bring himself to share more. He didn’t even know where to start. Thankfully, Sam read him as keenly as he ever had.

“I know, a story for another time," Sam said. The small smile Sam gave Castiel eased the tension that had been growing in him at the realization of how much catching up Sam and Dean were both going to have to go through. It was only tripled by the growing realization that he was going to have to omit so much as well.

Dean was the next to speak, breaking the brief silence that had fallen, “So this Nergal character—he's what? The new dirt bag in town and we're just clones? Great. Just—great. Souls are intact so, there’s a light right?”

There was no sincerity there, or gratefulness which was confirmed by Dean’s next words, “I mean why rescue us? Why not destroy what this Nergal clown created and be done with it?”

James felt the uncoiling of the rage he had been holding back as soon as the words were out of Dean’s mouth. His fist made contact with the set of file cabinet beside him which sounded like a bomb going off in the room.

Sam jumped, but Dean who had his back turned to the sound—stood quickly, turning his back to the table to face the source of the crash. The cabinet was buckled almost in half like a car had hit it instead of a fist. Papers were fluttering to the ground around James who had a steely gaze fully on Dean. After a moment of holding Dean’s gaze and making sure he had the man’s full attention James growled lowly, “Always the fucking martyr,” behind gritted teeth before turning and leaving the room in deceptively calm steps towards the war room in the direction of the stairs that led to the garage.

Castiel sighed and looked away letting his gaze fall anywhere but on Dean or the people around him. His jaw twitched as he ran his hand through his hair. It was taking everything he had to stay where he was, and not follow his son. He knew what James needed right now, and it wasn't him. He glared at Dean sideways rather than straight on, but said nothing as Dean turned back to him, meeting his eyes. Dean’s expression was a candid mix of shock, adrenaline—possibly guilt, but Castiel thought the latter was too generous an interpretation of what he was seeing.

“Real slick there, Dean-o,” Gabriel observed out loud. Henry sighed before before flipping the hilt of the knife he had been twirling earlier into his fist. With an almost too quick to see throw, the knife flew through the air coming to rest fully embedded in the concrete column on the other side of the room. Giving a sad smile to Sam and a nod to the whole of those in the room, he then turned and walked off in the direction of the corridor that led to the living quarters.

Sam frowned as he watched the young man go. When Henry rounded the corner of the war room, Sam stood. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead of letting the words out he gave Dean a glare before he too took his leave in the direction Henry had gone.

Gabriel remained sitting, and without taking his locked glare off Dean, Castiel said quietly, “Gabe?”

Gabriel knew it wasn’t a question, it was a request. “No way, little bro.”

Castiel leveled his eyes on him then in silence. After another moment, Gabriel got up in a huff, “Fine. You take care of Mr. Cats-in-the-Cradle over there how you see fit, Cassie. But that means I will take care of Sam how _I_ see fit. Understood?” the archangel declared and made his way to where the hilt of Henry’s knife protruded. He yanked it out with easy and without regarding either of them or waiting for a rebuttal, he too left the room.

Once Gabriel had disappeared into the war room, and hopefully out of earshot, Dean turned to Castiel, “What in the hell's that supposed to mean?”

Castiel swallowed and shifted uneasily.

“Cas?” Dean pressed.

Castiel looked at Dean then with a hardened expression. What he said next came laced with sarcasm and if Dean was reading his friend right—pain, “I might be deflecting a bit here when I say that is the least of your concerns and not even on the radar of your priorities right now, Dean.”

Dean huffed and then scowled at Castiel, “Wow! Okay. Well, enlighten me Cas. What should my priorities be exactly?”

“Our son,” was Castiel’s answer as he stood. The weight of those two little words clung to the air, and the emotions that shifted over Castiel’s features took the sarcasm straight out of Dean’s mouth. Until that moment, the complete bullshit he had woken up to had nulled any ability to take his reactions seriously—to weigh how he might have been making people feel. Those two words though, and the expression on Castiel’s face made everything feel very real all of the sudden. He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I get all this seems like a bad joke to you, or perhaps you might be thinking none of this is real, but you have been a part of incorporeal reality enough to know what real is and what it isn’t. That,” Castiel pointed to the crumpled filing cabinet and strewn papers, “was real.”

With that, he turned his eyes from Dean and headed in the direction of the war room toward the corridor that led to the living quarters. He had to place as much distance between the Hunter and himself before he crumbled in front of him. He rounded the corner out of Dean's sight and stopping mid-stride, leaned his weight against the wall. He knew this was going to be hard, but like so many times since he had met Dean, he was unprepared for just how hard it was going to be, or how weighed down he felt with the ache in his chest that triggered treacherous tears to well up.

 

**~*~**

 

[ Scene Song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6ffmunRjjI)

Dean could hear the music start up and it echoed up the stairs he was descending leading to the garage. Something about the driving beats reminding him of Metallica but bolder. As he entered, the music was rattling the walls and pounding the concrete floor under his feet.

_‘ Since when did we get a surround system like that down here? ’_

He looked down the line of cars, spotting a few new additions like a 1969 428 Cobra Jet and a 1970 Chevelle SS. Both were stripped of paint and dressed in dust and primer. Both were also packing interior roll cages, an exoskeleton, 4x4 tires and tail lift fit for racing through a Mad Max film rather than a pleasure ride in the real world. That thought had Dean narrowing his eyes as he passed the set—wondering why these modifications were even necessary. The vocals in the music kicked in pulling his attention away from the cars. Dean didn’t know who this was, but he was liking it. At least good music hadn’t died. At the tail end of that thought he caught sight of James wiping a wrench with an oil-stained cloth as he walked over to the toolbox and threw it in. The young man dug around and found a screwdriver before he headed back to the car he was working on.

Baby. She was still kicking, or at least looking as gorgeous as he had last seen her. Which, in his mind was only a few hours ago. In reality, it had been years. Fuck. His head was killing him. Dean stood back and watched the kid work, noting the extra care he was putting into every twist of the screw driver, and the fact he was using a fender mat to protect her from any nicks or oil drips made Dean smile despite the pounding in his skull.

Without glancing up, James raised his hand into the air and with a slow twist of his wrist, the volume of the music lowered into the background. James glanced up briefly, nothing in his features or body language giving his thoughts away. He simply went back to working on what appeared to be the manifold.

 _'Looks like angel mojo was another thing the kid inherited,’_ Dean thought. “Nice tunes,” Dean said for lack of anything better to say.

James’ face was buried under the hood, but Dean could see one side of James’ mouth quirk up in a smirk that reminded him of Cas’ own crooked one. Something about that made Dean’s gut twist strangely. He wasn’t about to dissect it. Not now. Not ever.

“Avenged Sevenfold. Hail to the King. One of the rare modern bands you liked thanks to me,” James shot Dean a glance before he turned his eyes back to the task at hand. While the half smirk remained, there was something off in the lack of lines in the corners of his eyes. Not so much a mask, but rather a shield. It was familiar territory.

“Thanks to you huh?” Dean asked taking measured steps until he was standing in front of his car. He leaned down to take a look under the hood.

James straightened up and looked down at his dad's bent frame. Or rather, a carbon copy of the original. James felt heated moisture starting to pool up in his eyes. He blinked as he reached for the rag and wiped at the screwdriver. “Yeah well, we share the same love for the classics. Just uh, different eras. I found a few of yours to love and you found a few of mine," James shrugged and walked over to put the screwdriver back in the toolbox.

The corners of Dean’s mouth twitched as he nodded and stood. It sounded like how he would do things. “So I take it we bonded over music and cars?"

James walked back to the Impala and removed the fender mat. “Yeah, beer and baseball too," James replied as the hood slammed into down.

“We—played baseball?" Dean asked incredulously.

“Yeah," James said as he wiped his hands on a clean towel, “football too when Henry and I were smaller.”

Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up as faded flashes of memory flickered in the back of his mind as if hiding from the light. Two boys chasing after him. Football in hand and thrown as they tackle him. Sam catching it—.

“Hey, you okay?” James voice blew the tattered images like sand from the palm of his hand. When he looked up, he could see the edges of concern only muted by the slightest of a reassuring smirk.

“Uh, yeah. Migraine—I guess. So, sports?” Dean said, trying to wave off the attention.

James wasn’t quite buying it, Dean could tell but he replied, “Yeah, like I was saying—it was important to you for some reason—that I learned how to play. Of course, the challenge was never in teaching me how to hit the ball. It was always in how to temper my hit so I didn’t knock it out of Kansas." He let out a small chuckle and added, "I think you spent more than your car's worth on replacement bats and balls."

Dean couldn’t help but allow a smile to grow wider as he heard this, but his head was still swimming from the flashback that he shouldn’t be having-if that was even what it was. So he decided to recalibrate his focus.

“So, ah. What's wrong with her?”

James knew instantly Dean was talking about the Impala. He shook his head. Cars were always neutral territory with his dad, and meant a change of topic was needed. What he couldn’t figure out is whether it had to do with the catatonic episode Dean had just experienced or the content of the conversation. Either way, James was genuinely freaked out, but needed to do his best to play it off. So, if Dean wanted to talk about Baby, he was going to do just that. “Ah, well. Her intake manifold was leaking. Took me three weeks to locate a replacement gasket.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Dean spoke again, “Listen, I’m sorry for uh... back there. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this,” Dean said indicating the space around them with the flipping of his hand and the other rubbing the back of his neck briefly.

“You mean Father reamed you.” James stated with a chuckle.

“Wh—what?” Dean asked in faux offense, and then countered with as much alpha male he could manage, “Hey, I do what I want.”

“Right,” James chuckled. “You know, never mind. No harm, no foul?” his smile wide and sincere now as he shook his head again. “Just as fucking irritating that some things change, it’s comforting that some things never do,” James winked.

"Yeah, yeah," was Dean's response. "Speaking of new, what else has changed around here besides the kick ass sound system?"

James knew he was supposed to take Dean back to rest before they went out tonight for the grand reveal of what his dad and uncle had awaken to, but he was still too concerned about what had happened earlier to let Dean go without observing him further. Replicants had a shelf life, something he has chosen not to mention. While Sam and Dean showed absolutely zero cell degradation, an eighty second long catatonic state was nothing to ignore either. Besides, he never thought he’d get a chance to talk to his dad again. Not in this life or the next, so he was going to pull as much time as he could get away with.

  
“C’mon, I'll give you the grand tour. There’s been a lot of changes around here you’ll like to see.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UPDATED 4/20/16- As with the first and third chapters, there have been a complete redraft of this chapter. The original chapter was at 5,603 words, but this updated draft is at 6,405 words. If you have not read the updated drafts yet, please do so before moving on.
> 
> UPDATE 1/5/2015 - Read "NOTE" in the 'beginning notes" for information and reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** I have had a few people ask me about Mages. All they knew about a Mage is something you learn from video games, D &D, movies and comic books. Not that I'm against any of those mediums ( _I partake in them all lol_ ), but when people generally hear it, their mind automatically goes to fantasy instead of the occult. And that is a crying shame folks. Please read end notes to learn the occult source of the term so that the weight of seriousness behind the term used here will replace the fantasy conception.
> 
>  I believe the next chapter is going to be a back story explaining just where Canon diverges. It will explain how demon!Dean never happened, how Gabriel is a alive and last but not least, to briefly introduce Nergal. At the end of the Chapter there is a mini mythology lesson for those wanting to know a little more about Nergal. The MAJOR mythology lesson will come when I introduce him in the back story. 
> 
>  Mythology lessons will become pretty regular with this series and will always be included on end notes with resource links if applicable.
> 
>  A new character is introduced by name in this chapter as well. See endnotes for a painting preview (face only) of this character so you can have a sneak peek.
> 
> I want to profusely thank [Vitamindesi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vitamindesi/pseuds/vitamindesi) for stepping up to the plate to be my beta, my conscious and my cheerleader on this project. Please pray for her sanity. She's going to need it lol!
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support with this project everyone! It really means more than you know!

 

When Sam followed Henry, he hadn’t expected him to be standing just around the corner of the corridor. He stopped just short of plowing the guy over. Henry didn't flinch or even look up at Sam despite the near tackle.

Instead, the nephilim’s attention remained trained in the direction of the archive room. He lifted his hand slowly as if moving it any faster would have given his eavesdropping away and place the index finger of it to his lips. His signal for silence was followed up by moving his hand so the same finger could make three taps to his earlobe ending in a quick point in the direction of his interest. Sam fell in step with the instruction, but he also couldn’t help letting his gaze wander over the nephilim’s profile as Henry’s hand moved back to his side as slowly as he had raised it.

A subtle chill ran through Sam as the words, _‘_ _my son_ _,’_ began to ruminate. Here, right in front of him, was the one thing he had never given up hope in having some day even though he questioned if he was ever fit to raise a child. Especially considering the life he led. It appeared he’d done all right. For a brief moment, he thought of Jess and what she might have to say about this particular development. She’d likely start throwing out as many comedic movie titles as she could think up like;  _Two men, Two Angels of the Lord with Two Babies_ , and then back it all up by telling him she is proud of him. The thought comforted him, as thoughts of her often did. It also drove home the realization he would never remember what it is he had done right or even wrong as a father. Before he could get caught up in the throes of about a billion and one questions he wanted to ask Henry, the last of the conversation between Gabriel and Castiel echoed.

Curious over Gabriel’s stance that the he was _his_ to _take care of_ , Sam’s eyes shifted in Henry’s direction requesting an answer in the silence between them. Henry’s only reply was a potentially disarming crook of a grin he had turned up to Sam.

It had Gabriel written all over it.

In unison, they turned in the direction of the single set of approaching footsteps. As the archangel rounded the corner, he raised a single brow at the wholly expected sight of the two men standing hidden in the corridor like children eavesdropping on their parents. Gabriel did not stop, but his eyes meeting Sam’s as he handed Henry his knife—hilt first. What Sam found in that brief connection, made his humored expression look like a mask hiding something more. If Sam had to pin it down to first impressions, he would have to say it was _concerned_ mixed with ample amounts of _conflicted_.

Gabriel came to a stop when he realized he wasn't being followed by either men. With Gabriel’s schooled expression of nonchalance focused on them, it suddenly struck Sam that the eye contact had been intentional. Gabriel was trying to convey a message—or a warning to keep between them and keep Henry oblivious. Henry was too focused on checking his blade over before sliding it into the sheath for it in his shoulder strap to have noticed. It caused Sam to wonder if the _other_ Sam would have known exactly what Gabriel was telling him. The bond they must have shared having raised Henry must have been strong. The sense of loss Sam felt at having no memory of raising Henry, doubled over on itself as he acknowledged he was missing a large part of a life experience he had always wanted and a friendship that appeared to have been a strongly bound one.

 The archangel’s head leaned, using it like a pointer in the direction he had been going. Sam hesitated, as Henry—who was paying attention now, followed his father’s directing without sparing another glance at Sam. Even after Henry passed Gabriel, Sam continued to stand in place. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in uncertainty. He wasn’t exactly sure why it felt like he was standing at the edge of some precipice—like the moment before some pivotal life changing truth is revealed, but it had him debating another step. Gabriel and Henry were leading him toward either who he had become, or what he’d left behind. How he knew—he couldn’t say, but it tugged with as much force for him to follow as it also screamed at him to get the hell out of there.

Gabriel’s eyes lingering on Sam, waiting with the patience of a saint. No matter how much he wanted to stalk right up to the moose and drag his ass kicking and screaming, he would stand right here until they both collected dust—if that’s what it took—until Sam moved. He knew full well what direction Sam would go in, once he did finally make a move. After all, despite the overgrown Hunter's need to be seen as nothing less than a man with _mature_ sensibilities, Gabriel knew better. Give anything a sense of mystery, and the guy's childlike curiosity would be perked with an obsessive need-to-know. If there was one thing Sam lacked one damn ounce of discipline over, it was his curiosity. All blue blood scholars were alike.

To take the pressure off, Gabriel turned away from Sam acting as if he was looking to see where Henry had gone. He smiled to himself when he heard Sam’s footsteps begin to tap and scuff on the concrete flooring in his direction.

 _'Ah, how some things never change_.’

Life without Sam Winchester had been… unrewarding. Six years spent in the battlefield without the human fighting alongside him was six years too many as far as he was concerned. Sam was made out of something often overlooked by gods and angels, but pretty damn special.

He had always seen it.

The Felix to his Oscar was alive and well—all was right with the world. Okay, the world was pretty fucked up, so not quite the optimal analogy to use, but he was ever the optimist that finding Sam and Dean was the turning of the tied.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked once they were out of earshot of Dean and Castiel.

With a roll of his eyes Gabriel answered without turning, “To show you something while little bro deals with your thick headed brother.”

Sam really couldn’t blast Gabriel for calling Dean out as a dumbass. He wasn’t particularly impressed with his brother’s reactions either. When Sam heard he had a son he felt apprehension, of course. What if they were in some alternate reality? Again. Especially after the debriefing quickie they’d just gotten from Cas, it had sounded way above their pay grade, and something from a sci fi flick instead of reality. That thought almost made Sam’s own eyes roll, because his life wasn’t quite reality by reality’s standards. Whatever. Better Cas dealing with Dean right now than him having too.

Contrary to his brother, when he looked at Henry he knew even if this was an alternate reality or some fucked up dream, the need to know him bypassed everything else.

Sam also couldn’t say he was shocked by Dean’s reaction either since his brother suffered from chronic emotional constipation, but it didn’t make him any less disappointed when he had seen how much it had hurt James and Cas. That pain looked pretty damn real.

Cas’ reactions had peaked his curiosity too. There was something in how his friend had been looking at Dean. It made him feel like he was missing some important bit of information. The raw emotion that was passing between Cas and his brother was nothing exactly new—of course. It always left him clearing his throat to break up the awkward tension more often than not. It’s something that he always told himself was none of his business. Well--that’s until the shit got too much and he had tried to talk to Dean about it only to be greeted with a wall of threats lined with spikes.

Perhaps he had been asking the wrong person all along? There was a palpable intimacy passing from Cas’ gaze toward his brother, but it wasn’t being returned by Dean. It seemed to make the angel uneasy. Sam sighed to himself and pushed away the thoughts as they turned a corner which had them catching up with Henry. They then turned another together which led to a concrete block wall that Sam knew beyond it would be nothing but earth.

Gabriel lifted his hand, palm facing out towards the wall. Leveling his voice he spoke the Enochian words, “ODZANRAN OD ODO ELASA MOADU.”

The wall began to shift, and a low rumble began to shake the air around them. The floor beneath Sam’s feet came to life with a static hum that appeared to be sourced from the very foundations of the Bunker itself. The concrete wall began to breathe in rolling waves which--just as he was about to ask what was happening—the wall quite literally melted away and vanished through the floor revealing the entry into a darkened room.

Gabriel turned sad eyes up to him even though a smile spread across his mouth. He gestured with his hand for Sam to enter. While Sam knew he probably shouldn’t trust either archangel or nephilim, he moved past them to enter through. Several steps in, he stopped where the light coming through the entry ended, and found himself standing at the edge of darkness.

“What is this place?” he asked as his voice echoed around him.

Gabriel didn’t reply, but instead he clapped his hands together loudly twice. Lights began to flicker on one by one down the length of the massive chamber. When Sam looked up, there were no actual lights to be seen. The illumination was quite literally coming from nowhere. The soft, torch like glow revealed massive sandstone walls, catacombs with groin vaults and pointed arches which made up the space.  Rich tapestries depicting mythological scenes decorated the walls. Sheer red curtains hung between the columns that line a portion of both the right and left side of the room. In the center of the curtains, a white serpent wrapped around a golden gnarled staff was embroidered. They danced by the hands of a gentle breeze that seemed to come from everywhere.

“This, my friend, is your _Sanctum Sanctorum_ ,” Gabriel informed as if impressed with not only the room, but with Sam as well.

 “ _Holy of Holies_ _._ Seriously?” Sam scoffed with a chuckle although he was still staring in wonder.

 “Hey, you named the joint when you made it, not me,” Gabriel rebuffed with an eyebrow raised in amusement. “You sorta gained a flare for the dramatic over the last twenty years. I just never discouraged it,” Gabriel smiled again, this time it reached his eyes.

 “When _I_ made it?” Sam turned his eyes to Gabriel who shrugged before turning his own eyes to Henry as if passing the torch of who got to do the explaining. Henry stepped forward taking easy steps toward Sam—like any sudden movement might startle him, sending the Winchester running off in the opposite direction. Henry stopped just a foot from him and looked up. Henry was taller than Gabriel but still shorter than him—shorter than Dean even. The way Henry carried himself though made him appear intimidating just the same, and Sam found himself fighting the urge to take a step back. When he looked into Henry’s eyes though, there was affection and it eased Sam in a way it shouldn't have. It felt familiar.

 “Yes, _you_. There was nothing here before—as you remember it, but you used your abilities as a Mage to create this epicenter for furthering your work,” Henry informed. He leveled his gaze and appeared to be expecting the reaction that he got.

 Sam ran his fingers through his hair as he turned to walk a few paces away before turning back around.

 “Wait, a Mage? I was using _magic_ ? I—was I practicing _witchcraft_!?” The last word came out as if on the edge of a blade, his brow pinched tight and eyes narrowed towards Gabriel.

 Gabriel lifted his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Ho now kiddo. Don't go getting your panties twisted. You didn’t sell your soul and it isn’t witchcraft—”

 “Unless you’re countering someone else’s handiwork it’s inexcusable. Using magic comes at a price Gabriel!” Sam spit out. “You of all people know that. How could you let me—”

 “ _Let_ you?!” Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Sam, his own brow tightening. “Have you met yourself?”

 Gabriel took a step closer, “You get an idea and you run with it. To Hell with the consequences. That’s how you ended up dead in the first damn place! So cut the blame right there and leave some for yourself,” Gabriel bit his words off there instead of adding, _‘I’ll be damned if I will be left holding the bag of guilt for what happened to you.’_ That was more truthful an admission than he felt willing to make at the moment to a man with whom _‘ BFF’_ didn’t apply toward him. Not anymore.

 “Okay, enough father,” Henry said putting his hand up towards Gabriel while keeping his eyes on Sam. “Mages or Manus—they are balancers. They serve no one, but act as receptacles of the Source.”

 “The Source? And who’s that, huh? Let me guess, a god or some force that _swears_ it's the good guy?” Sam’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, making it pretty clear he was disbelieving everything he was hearing.

 “The Source just _is_. It doesn’t have a will of its own. Its will is determined by the wielder. As you said, there can be great consequences to using magic. That’s true, but depending on how you choose to use the power you harness. Besides, not everyone can just tap into the Source. It’s Arch of the Covenants level power. That’s why a Manus has to be chosen. Like you were.”

“Riiiight, _Chosen_. Like I haven’t heard those words before.”

Sam was trying to calm his breathing. He should be feeling detached since it was the other Sam who had once again taken the plunge head first into playing fiddle with the Devil. It was just—he _knew_ . He knew that if all this was the real deal, _he_ was the same Sam who had at some point decided on this course of action. He felt... disappointed. Not that he didn't already carry that particular burden.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Chosen by who?” Sam asked once he had gotten a handle on the anger.

Henry shrugged, “Being a Manus is quite the esoteric pursuit. You never spoke about it and when pressed, you simply said it was something you couldn’t share.” The expression that passed over Henry's face made Sam wonder if he was annoyed by that fact somehow.

Sam turned to Gabriel, “And you don't happen to know a thing about it either, huh?” his voice dripping with more disbelief caught up in a bucket of sarcasm.

Gabriel merely shrugged as Henry had, “Don't go climbing up my ass about it. I might be an archangel, but there's shitloads of stuff I was kept in the dark about—remember?”

“No, actually—I don’t,” Sam answered. He regretted it when a pained expression washed over Gabriel’s face.

“Besides, I don’t know anything about any of this,” Sam gestured at the chamber while taking another look around him. “I’m pretty sure the Mage days are long behind me. There’s no way to catch up on twenty years of work and practice.”

“Au contraire mon cheri,” Gabriel said waving his index finger back and forth before turning to walk away.

Henry followed, but Sam stood in place once again. When Gabriel noticed he wasn’t following he turned around to face him--continuing to walk backwards. “Well, come on.”

“Maybe I should get back to Dean,” Sam suggested as his hands clenched and released at his sides.

Gabriel stopped at that. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and then back down to Sam.

“Your brother is with his son. He'll be fine. Besides, you stopped holding onto your brother’s skirt a long time ago. Especially after...” Gabriel cut his words off, wincing in an exaggerated manner. Sure, Cassie wanted him to keep his trap shut, but he said nothing about not beating around the bush until Sam figured it out on his own—as he had no doubt Sam would. Henry merely grinned, and shook his head at his father—amused.

“After what?” Sam inquired as he shifted again—narrowing his eyes.

Gabriel sighed.

_'Funs over_ '

Sam’s expression was still questioning as the archangel turned his eyes to his son where a silent discourse passed between them. A moment later Gabriel turned his eyes to Sam again solemnly, “After some of us grew up.”

As quickly as the dower expression had come over him, it was gone, “Now, stop finding ways to distract and follow.”

 

**~*~**

 

“We—have an armory?” Dean asked with a raised brow.

They stood in front of massive twelve feet high double doors made of ancient looking dark wood. Both of the ornate doors were engraved with snake-like dragons that stretched from top to bottom. In the center where the doors connected was a sun-like design and at the center of it was a unicursal which was the symbol for the Men of Letters. There used to be a smaller door here which led to a sizable portion of the warehouse stocked full of boxes. He and Sam had just started going through and cataloging everything inside. _Had_ being the operative word.

"When did we do the redecorating?" Dean asked still taking in the design on the doors.

Shrugging James answered, "2025?"

"Damn," Dean responded—happy that he had no recollection of having done the work. Fifteen years was a long-ass time to be sorting shit. "What's with the doors?"

"I made them," James smiled at him before putting a palm on each handle and with a click pushed the doors open. They swung out slowly revealing a sight that nearly made Dean weak in the knees.

This wasn't just some armory, this was a three story room of badassery and his eyes didn't know where to land first. The windows that had once lined the outer walls were now blocked up with solid concrete. The center of the nearly five thousand square foot space was open from floor to ceiling which was at least thirty feet high. Spiraling [ staircases made of wood planks ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/22/ef/1d/22ef1df94edfc895edc604a2055408f0.jpg) on the right and the left of them led to the second and third floors, with another two sets of similar staircases at midway and at the end of the room. The second and third floors were a good twelve feet of floor space from wall to center of the room and ran the full length as well as width of the structure.

The top level appeared to be both library and records since several leveled shelves filled with books lined the outside edge of the warehouse interior, with two and three rows of filing cabinets in between the book shelves every so often. The second level was lined with tables on top of which sat microscopes, beakers, glass tubes, and strange equipment in various levels of dismantlement.

On the walls of the main floor there was swords of various sizes and styles. There was also guns as well—some of which looked like shit straight from a sci fi flick. Some weapons were in cases obviously never meant to be used, but instead—admired. Various armor pieces adorned headless mannequins and cases placed throughout the room held objects ranging from daggers, to coins, and what appeared to be jewels as well as other objects that he had no fucking clue what they were.

There were also a couple ratty couches and chairs in the middle of the room with a few tables with lamps beside them which made Dean wonder if this was now the place everyone spent most of their time rather than in their rooms or the archive room as he and Sam had done in the past. He walked around the room, wide-eyed, taking it all in.

James crossed his arms lazily across his chest while leaning his back against the wall near the door. He watched his old man looking in the individual cases when Dean suddenly came to stop in front of one. James tried very hard not to smile as he watched Dean’s mouth opened and then closed before declaring, “Son of a bitch!” He opened up the case and reached in. When he pulled his hand back the medallion necklace he thought he had trashed years ago was dangling from his fingertips. His eyes shot up to James, “How?”

James allowed himself to smile then as he pushing himself from the wall. He walked toward his dad as he answered, “I was seven. We were walking back to our hotel room in Grand Junction, Colorado. We passed a row of cars when something caught your eye.”

James pointed at the necklace that was now cradled in Dean’s palm, “That was dangling from the rear view mirror of one.”  James’ smile turned from humor to fondness as he looked at his old man, “You, uh... you mumbled something about how I should never steal and that you were only taking back what was yours as you were opening the car door and snagged it off the mirror.”

Dean was looking at him now. James' eyes had taken on an unfocused gaze somewhere past Dean’s right shoulder as he continued, “For the next several nights when Henry and I'd go to bed you would tell us the story about that necklace. About the all adventures, trials and losses you and Uncle had been through.”

“Little heavy to be telling seven year olds don't you think?” Dean was looking up at James, his head not quite turned up. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about the fact he had made the choice to raise his kid in this life. Especially knowing what it was destined to do to someone. What kind of dad had he ended up being? It wasn't an answer he was ready for. Not yet.

James turned his focus to Dean then and smirked, “Henry and I were not your average seven year olds.”

Dean made a small smile at that and added a “Hmm,” before placing the necklace back in the case and closing the lid reverently. He turned his attention to the room again.

"This place was a dump the last time I saw it. Who did the work?"

"Mostly you. You had some dream that made you obsessed about making all of this," James replied allowing his eyes to roam upward, scanning the ceiling and back to Dean. He already knew what question was going to ask next so he continued before Dean could ask it.

"I don't know what it was about the dream that lit your ass up. You only ever spoke to Father about it and he never imparted it to anyone else. All he did was give the orders. Heavy lifting was left to Father and uncle Gabe. I handled all of the carvings, sigils and built all of the shelving. Henry and uncle Sam worked for months going through books and files. Each time we collected something new while on the outside, it had to be read and cataloged. It was Charlie who designed the lab and decoded some ancient texts that assisted in creating antidotes for poisons and making our weapons more effective,” James went to add more when Dean interrupted him.

"Wait, Charlie?" he asked. Something was tugging at his memory like some strange sense of deja vu. A faded image of her lying bloody and lifeless in a tub. Despair turning to a rage within him that he hadn't felt since he carried the Mark as he watched her body burning on a funeral pyre. He wasn't sure where the vision he was swept up in was coming from. The last he remembered seeing Charlie, she was hooking up with some fellow Hunters who were tech junkies. They were putting their heads together to try and develop more high tech ways to identify and track things that go bump in the night. Cas had mentioned timelines getting tossed a curve ball twice. Was this some kind of bleed over? Was that even possible?

"Yeah, Charlie. I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record here, but—are you okay?" James asked.

Instead of answering James' question Dean looked at him then and dared to ask, "Is she okay?"

It took James a second to register the question. He kept forgetting that this Dean didn't know all that had occurred over the course of this timeline. Both the Archangel Sariel and the angel Phalidah had changed quite literally everything. He decided to play dumb and stick with the here and now, "Uh, yeah. Yeah man, she's okay. When Nergal showed himself, you insisted she take father and Uncle Gabe's offer of watching over affairs in Heaven with Ash and keeping anyone else from getting in—aside from humans."

That thought suddenly had Dean smiling again as he tried to picture what that meeting was like, "So, what about the angels? They okay with that arrangement?" Dean asked sarcastically. "I didn't take them as the type to let humans run the show."

James' expression went from unease to somber, "In this timeline, they're all dead."

Dean's eyes widened at that. "All of them? How?"

James shook his head then, "I think you need that debriefing from Father if you're wanting details. Put simply though? A plague wiped them out."

"But Cas and Gabriel survived?" Dean asked. It was a question within a question that James picked up on easily enough.

"Father and Uncle are the oldest of their kind. Unlike humans, older means stronger. The plague was designed to exterminate the weak among the species."

"Lucifer and Michael? I thought they were the oldest? What about them?" Dean inquired with a raised brow.

"Dead by sword rather than plague."

Dean wanted to keep asking more questions, but after hearing that last one, his brain needed a break. It was a lot to take in at once. James' expression also told him he really couldn't tell him the details even if he asked. He had made it clear enough that Cas wanted to be in control of what Dean learned, so he let it drop.

Looking around again Dean asked, “So where'd all this come from?”

James glanced around the armory thankful for the subject change, “Mostly from cases we use to do back in the early days. Some were already here in storage and the others are from battles after Nergal showed up.”

“Battles?” Dean turned from one really mean looking blood grooved blade. He wasn’t liking the sinking feeling he was suddenly getting. What in the hell had he woken up to?

James removed a blade from a sheath, the handle of which looked like a curved talon. He walked over to Dean while still eyeing it. Once he was in front of him, James looked up into his eyes and in that all too familiar soul deep gaze, studied him before saying, “One we're unfortunately losing.”

He held up the dagger and passed it to Dean who just looked at it, “It’s yours. You made it from the talon of a harpy you took out. The blade is crafted from an angel blade you melted down. From what I hear, it was a bitch of a process.”

Dean cautiously took it from James and turned it over in his hands, “A harpy?” he snickered. “Right. Dante’s Inferno or Homer?” Dean was smiling now.

_'A harpy? Really?'_

James heard the sarcasm and couldn't help but chuckle internally at the rude awakening this guy was about to be given when they traveled outside these fortified walls of safety. He lifted a single brow, working hard to seem not even slightly amused, “She nearly took your leg off with that very talon. Slicing through muscle, sinew and bone. You were lucky you had father with you. He was able to get you back to the Bunker in time and heal you before you tapped out permanently.”

“Why the Bunker? Why not heal me when it happened?”

“Angel juice dampeners. It doesn’t seem to have any effect on me or Henry, but Father and Uncle Gabe aren't up to full power when they're outside the Bunker. Something about this place blocks whatever Nergal's using so, healing by grace has to be done here—if it can be done at all. You were fortunate it wasn’t a Basilisk—you'd been fucked. The poison is fast acting, kills within a few hours. The wound can't be healed nor poison's effects countered by Grace. There's an antidote, but it has to be made fresh from the Basilisk that struck. Even if you manage to kill it, there's still the matter of getting it here to the lab and the antidote takes almost an hour to prepare for injection. You do the math.”

“Huh,” Dean replied simply as he toyed with the talon handle and ignored the shiver that ran up his spine.

“A little overwhelming?” James asked.

Dean huffed, “Yeah, I feel like I’ve woken up to a Land of the Lost episode with a hangover.”

James chuckled and took the dagger from his dad’s hands replacing it within the sheath he had taken it from. “Yeah, well. I've been living this since day one and it still feels that way.”

Dean eyed James and really studied him. The familiarity in his movements, his facial expressions. There was no denying, “So, you're my kid?” he said more as an affirmation than a question.

James smiled, taking his bottom lip between his teeth before shrugging and replying, “Appears that way.”

Dean’s face still reflected caution and conflict which caused James’ smile to fade. Sighing he added, “Come on. I’m going to show you the training room and then you'll need to rest before we head out tonight.”

 

**~*~**

 

“You've got to be joking.” Sam asked while looking at Gabriel bemused.

“Would I joke about something like this?” Gabriel asked sincerely.

At the scrutinizing glare Sam shot him, he corrected himself. “Okay, I would, but I’m not. You have to shove your hands into those flames to retrieve that Grimoire— _your_ Grimoire. Only you can do it. The flames will kill anyone else who tries.”

“Yeah but I'm not _that_ Sam,” he argued.

“Yes you are,” Henry said from the other side of him.

Sam turned to face his son who appeared so certain that Sam almost believed him—if just for a moment. The heat of the flames were beating against his face and drying his eyes, making him blink rapidly. He stared indecisively at the large book that rested inside an alcove built into a wall blocked by a curtain of flames.

_‘Am I seriously going to attempt this?'_

He turned back to Gabriel who was a figure of confidence and resolve. The archangel nodded once and waited. Sam turned back to the flames. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue being a Mage. He sure wasn’t okay with the mystery surrounding how he became one, but he was a Legacy and as a Man of Letters that included scholarly work. This ranked up there, didn’t it? At this particular intersection, his curiosity of needing to see what his other self had written or found in the arcane was winning out.

And that’s what he told himself, that this was about the scholarly work and not about wanting to pursue magic. He at least convinced himself enough to lift his hands and put them out towards the curtain of flames. The heat became too intense against his palms and fingertips though—causing him to pull them back.

“You have to dive in—pansy pants. Act like you own that book. Going at it slow is just going to get you cooked extra crispy,” Gabriel informed beside him.

Sam shook out his hands, squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. Lifting them again, he posed to reach out quickly but froze.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Gabriel put a hand in the middle of Sam’s back and pushed the Hunter’s whole upper half though the flames. Sam panicked and threw himself back out. He frantically began checking his body over to make sure he wasn’t burned. He then turned his eyes on Gabriel. The death glare made the archangel back up instinctively.

“Hey!” Gabriel chuckled anxiously. “You're okay right?” he hastily implored with a shrug.

Sam’s fists were balled up at his side and his jaw clenched. “You—asshole,” was all Sam could get through his gritted teeth before Henry was in front of him, hands on his shoulders.

“Hey. Easy now dad. Listen, hey. Look!” Henry’s face was full of levity, but his voice was authoritative enough that it made Sam turn to look down at him.

“There you are. Hey,” he slapped at Sam's cheek playfully. A smile spread across his mouth as he gave a firm squeeze to his dad’s shoulder with his other hand. “Look—you're not burned.”

Sam was pissed, breaths nearly heaving but one look at Henry’s face and it pooled out of him—the firm grip on his shoulders grounding him. Henry seemed to know exactly how to calm him and Sam really didn't know what to do with that. He blinked at his words and looked down at himself again as Henry released him.

He wasn’t hurt. Not even scorched. He glanced pointedly at Gabriel again before turning to flames again, but this time he reached out without hesitation wrapping his hands around the Grimoire and pulling it back through the flames.

Leather bound and several inches thick, it was a lot lighter than it should have been. Sam cautiously opened it only to become confused a short moment later.

“I can't read it,” he said as he began turning page after page. It was his handwriting but the symbols—which reminded him of some form of sanskrit—were completely unknown to him.

“It’s in some language I don’t recognize.”

Henry and Gabriel passed a knowing look between them.

“Great, I was afraid of that. It’s a language only taught to the Manus. Since this version of you never went through the initiation, you don't have the ability,” Gabriel informed. “We're going to have pay a visit to Pythia again,” he said more to Henry than Sam.

“Yeah, if we can find her,” Henry responded. “The last I heard whispers of her was two years ago.”

“Sam’s touched the book for the first time in six years. I’m sure it will alert her to him being alive. I get the feeling she'll find him,” Gabriel said with certainty.

“I’m right here,” Sam interjected impatiently. “Who’s Pythia?”

“The one who put you on this path in the first place,” Gabriel answered. “Now come on. We're venturing out tonight and you need to rest before you face that particular mind fuck.”

Gabriel was already walking back the way they had come when Sam began to follow with Henry at his side.

“What was that about?” Sam asked Henry.

“You'll see soon enough,” he replied solemnly.

A sinking feeling began to settle into Sam’s center of unease.

 

**~*~**

 

Castiel had managed to pull himself together enough to gather belongings from Dean and his shared room. One trip after another he removed any trace of himself or the nature of their relationship from their—no—Dean’s room. He could have simply snapped his fingers and done the same but there was something in the ritual he needed.

The only thing he decided selfishly to leave behind was a picture that was taken a few years before Nergal brought desolation to the Earth. Happier times. Their arms hanging lazily over each other’s shoulders, him laughing looking at the side of Dean’s face with Dean laughing at the camera, little James standing just a few heads shorter than them, smiling with Dean’s arm around his chest.

Castiel ran his finger down the simple dark oak finish of the frame before turning to leave and found James standing alone in the doorway.

“Father?” James questioned as he stepped into the room and immediately noticed how empty it was. “What's going on?”

Castiel sighed but didn’t answer his son’s question. “Where’s Dean?”

“Where’s the answer to my question?” James eyes narrowed as he felt the anger from earlier building in him again.

“James—” Castiel started but looked away. He didn’t know how to explain what he had to do, he just knew he had to do it. For now, and likely indefinitely.

James’ anger turned quickly to a plea, “Just tell him father.”

Castiel shook his head, “No.”

“Why not? I mean, what in the hell's problem here?” James’ frustration layering every word.

“There are just some things you don’t understand. There were chances and circumstances that will never repeat themselves—which got us to where we were,” Castiel said as he glanced up at his son.

The sadness and defeat James saw there made him even angrier now, his whole body vibrating with it, “No, I get it. This is easier,” biting off the addition of _cowardly_ at the end.

“If you think this is easier—you truly don't understand,” Castiel bit out louder than he had meant, but he was shaking from the tears that he had been fighting since Dean had awaken and finding out that he would remember nothing has Castiel did. Realizing now James wasn’t the only foolish one to have had held on too tight to hope—hope that now was a heavy stone around his neck. All he had left to do was throw himself into the sea.

James sucked in his bottom lip and bit down drawing blood as he held back his own angry tears. He simply nodded before turning and swiftly leaving the room.

“James!” Castiel called after him, but experience told him that his son wouldn't be turning back around. Castiel merely stood there for a moment more before leaving the room packed full of memories he wished he could remove as swiftly as he had the physical evidence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **REFERENCES:**
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>  **MAGE:** Mage is not a modern term. In fact, the term pre-dates the Hellenistic period and stems from the word ' _Magi_ '. Magi was the name by which followers of Zoroastrianism are called. Zoroastrianism became an organized religion sometime in the 5th century. I won't go into a whole history lesson here, but will include links so you can look this info up if you are interested ( _I never know the extent of interest anyone reading this might have so, going to do it just in case_ ). If you are just reading to be entertained, don't feel like you have to. Knowing all of this info is not necessary to enjoying the story. On the other hand, knowing at least some of it can enhance your experience with it as well. Mage simply means ' _magician_ '. Other versions of this word are magian, mage, manus, magus, magusian, magusaean and manji.
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> One of the most well known texts among occultists is '[the book of the Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Book_of_Abramelin)'. It is a Germanic-Hebrew grimoire of Abramelin the Jew ( _who is believed to have lived c.1362 – c.1458_ ). He was a practitioner of Solomonic magic ( _if you ever wished to know sources where Supernatural gets all their fancy sigils from, you have to check no further than grimoire work such as these. Especially Solomonic magic_ ). It is split into three books total. Within the text, after going through a detailed set of rituals- the initiate learns to command demons, fly through the air, create an army from thin air, resurrect the dead, command storms and create appropriate sigils/talismans. It was translated by S.L. Mathers in 1898. If you are interested in reading this work, here is a [PDF](http://www.holybooks.com/sacred-magic-abramelin-mage/) to all three books.
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> There is a more modern and frankly, ' _accessible_ ' version. '[21st Century Mage: Bring the Divine Down to Earth](http://www.amazon.com/21st-Century-Mage-Bring-Divine/dp/1578632374)' of the text reinterpreted. If you are interested in checking it out, there is a [PDF](http://www.sacred-magick.com/PDF.php?cid=8.0&sort=3) of it as well.
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> I hope this has re-centered your way of thinking about the word Mage and it might not sound as silly/fantasy born as it once did.
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> **Related Ref. ******
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> * **Magician (paranormal)**[LINK](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magician_\(paranormal\))  
>  * **Magi** [LINK](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magi)  
>  * **Zoroastrianism** [LINK](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoroastrianism)
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>  **Nergal**   
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> One of the Annunaki. Son of the god Enlil and deity of the Biblical city, Cuth/Kutha ( _his name is found in 2 Kings 17:30_ ). God of the Underworld, pestilence, hunger and devastation. Nergal had power and dominion over the dead and was the escort of demons. In the Mesopotamian religion, he was identified with Irra, the god of scorched earth and war. Nergal appears in the story of the Deluge ( _the Great Flood of the Bible_ ) as told in The Epic of Gilgamesh.
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> Not the watered down deities of normal SPN mythos and one of the original gods. Just fyi... Nergal's father, Enlil has a brother. His name is Enki. Enki is literally, God ( _or in SPN's mythos, Chuck_ ). 
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> Hopefully it is becoming apparent the whole other level of intense this is going to be. :)
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> A head shot of my painting of Pythia  
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> Pythia was also the name given to the Oracle of Delphi and this ancient figure along with its connections with the Serpent cults from ancient Sumeria, the Druids and Serpent Priestesses that appear in nearly every lore- is where I got my inspiration for this character. 


	3. The End is the Beginning (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory starts at the end of 9x23 when Dean and Metatron face-off. This is where Canon diverges into Alternate Canon. Check the end of chapter notes for references and explanations.
> 
>  **UPDATED (5/9/16)-** This chapter (along with chapters one and two) has been redrafted. If you haven't read them before this date, then it is imperative you go back and read these three chapters again before proceeding. A lot of new content has been added. This particular chapter originally had 7,554 words. This redraft now has 10,566 words. I'm now moving on with the rest of this work (YAY right? :D ). Thank you for your patience and I really hope the redrafts clarify a lot and even add more to the plot for you. Enjoy!

 

## The End is the Beginning

Part One

“Reanimation of the sequence

Rewinds the future to the past.

To find the source of the solution;

The system has to be recast.”

 _\- Black Sabbath (_ End of the Beginning)

 

 

 

 

Dean groaned as Metatron’s boot crushed every bone in his wrist. He attempted to catch his breath—the quickness of each inhale and exhale in tune with the rolls of thunder made by the dark power surging through him. He knew he should be feeling more pain from the broken ribs he’d gotten from hitting the wall and the dislocated shoulder which just met the floor. Even his jaw—though shattered from Metatron’s kick—was still half-ass functioning by the Mark’s will alone. In fact, any damage his body seemed to be taking on was acting like a flashover that blazed through his veins, charring the marrow in his bones—even melting sinew as it went. Smelting—extracting his soul from its core. A liquid fire that couldn’t be sated—couldn’t be put out. 

The Blade.

He needed it in his hand. He needed to feed it fresh blood. Let this fire burn down everything in his path—sweep away his soul so he could be forged into a sword no man or even God himself could defend themselves against. In fact, he would command and they would offer themselves up—throwing themselves onto their own funeral pyres he would make for them all.

The Blade was calling him even now as it laid discarded on the ground from Metatron’s assault. He could barely hear Metatron’s words through the sound of blood pumping in his skull.

_ Blade, kill, Blade, kill, Blade, kill _ was all that the Mark commanded. With its command came rage, came lust, came the abysm where his soul was once cradled. He was dying, he was changing—he was adrift.

“So, you took Abaddon's scalp then you figured you'd take on little old nebbishy me. What could go wrong? You're powered by the bone of a jackass and it is just awesome, right? Here's a tip—”

Metatron's speech was cut short by the tip of an angel blade protruding from the front of his throat.

“You always did like to hear yourself talk,” Gabriel said from somewhere behind him.

Perturbed at the rude interruption of his momentous speech, Metatron straightened himself. Stepping back away from Dean, he slowly turned to the archangel.

Gabriel’s triumphant smirk fell as he threw up his hands—palms out in defense, “Uh.”

Metatron reached behind his head and pulled the blade from his neck. He took a moment to pivot his head, cracking his neck as vertebrae and flesh refused. He lifted both the blade he had been intending to kill Castiel’s pet with and Gabriel’s blade—pointing them both at the archangel.

Sam shot around the corner and froze. He saw Dean’s movement and he watched hoping that Metatron wouldn’t hear him—that the scribe wouldn’t turn around. He was shocked to see Gabriel there and even more confused as he listened to Metatron’s words, “Why you backstabbing, two-timing…” Metatron threw up his arms in exasperation, his hands still grasping the blades as he huffed.

Metatron rolled his eyes to the sky and back down again to glare at Gabriel, “...masquerading as my servant only to betray? Even after I brought you back from non-existence and this is what I get for my generosity? My mercy?”

Gabriel grimaced and shrugged, “Uh, my bad?”

Metatron’s brows tightened and his eyes narrowed. Something was wrong here, something was different. Looking at Gabriel now—really looking at him—he was seeing someone different behind the flesh. This wasn’t Gabriel—or at least he wasn’t the same Gabriel he reformed. That’s when he saw the wings, both of them intact. Those were the one thing the archangel hadn’t been brought back with. He had used giving the archangel his wings back as leverage to get him to pull a Harry Truman on Castiel.

As if knowing the connection Metatron’s thoughts were making, Gabriel unrolled and expanded them allowing only Metatron to see. It was a display meant for Metatron alone as well as a distraction. A hint of a smile formed across Gabriel’s lips. He was hoping the scribe was hearing his  _ ‘fuck you’ _ loud and clear.

Metatron was just opening his mouth to ask Gabriel who or what he was when his eyes widened in panic just as he felt the First Blade puncture his back, severing his spine and coming through the other side.

“No,” Dean said. His voice gritted in rage as he leaned in—lips nearly touching the shell of Metatron’s ear, “this is what you get.”

Metatron—still wide eyed and mouth gaped open—turned his eyes down to the protruding bloodied bone edged with teeth. “Impossible,” he mumbled just before his head threw back in a sudden jolt, arms rigid and wide—the angel blades falling to the ground.

There was a clash of thunder and the ground began to rumble. It felt separate somehow from what the blade was doing to Metatron and Sam wondered if Castiel had succeeded in destroying the God tablet.

“What have you don—”

Dean twisted the blade until he felt a snap like a key turning a lock and stepped away when he felt an energy begin to build around him. This wasn’t a normal angel death, there was something different. There was a pulse emanating from Metatron that reminded Dean so much of what had come from Dick Roman when he had ganked him too. This though, was much more powerful.

Instead of its effect spanning a few feet of space, Dean was willing to bet its expanse stretched across the whole of the city. Pretty sure it was a lost effort, he backed away from the dying angel—staying just close enough in case the scribe made a comeback.

The pulse came quicker and quicker. The sonic pounding cracking concrete and dislodging bricks from the factory walls which tumbled to the ground—shattering like clay pots. Finally, blinding light burned through Metatron’s mouth and eyes as he screamed. One last sonic pulse went off and Metatron fell then, ashed wings dusting the concrete.

Dean glared down at the body of the angel and sneered. He was feeling higher than he had ever been in his life, but completely unsatisfied. He needed to kill. Just one more fix so he could finally peak and come back down. He  _ needed _ to come back down. He turned his eyes to the Blade sticking out of Metatron’s chest.

“I’m sorry Dean, but I can’t let you do that,” Gabriel said as he lifted his hand the palm of which was now facing Dean.

Dean turned his ugly sneer to the archangel, “Oh really? How much you wanna to bet I’ll have it buried in your chest before you can stop me? Two jackasses down? I’m all in.”

Gabriel whistled and then smiled in the face of the hunter’s challenge, “Aw, come on Dean-o. I think we both know who’s going to fold here. All that power turning your blood black while feeding you lines of bull? Under it all, you know exactly how this is going to play out.”

At that, Gabriel tilted his head in an all too familiar way reminiscent of the first time Dean had ever met Castiel.

“Buuut, that’s what you want. Isn’t it?”

Sam rushed forward then. Without taking his eyes off Dean, Gabriel assured him, “It’s okay Sam. I’m not going to hurt your brother.”

Compassion layered within the words caught Sam off guard causing his steps to stall a few feet from Gabriel.

“You might wanna stay right there by the way. Your brother’s not at home right now. If you get near him Sam, he won’t hesitate to kill you,” Gabriel said.

When he felt Sam shift in uncertainty,  he turned his eyes to him. The shake of Gabriel's head telling Sam to back down.

Dean used the distraction and moved to retrieve the First Blade but paused when his vision became tunneled. He stumbled and glared at Gabriel. The archangel’s hand was still stretched out with his palm toward him, but now it was emitting a light. Dean locked eyes with his brother's just before his vision went black and he collapsed.

“Dean!” Sam called out as he ran past Gabriel and to his brother’s side.

Gabriel followed calmly behind him.

Sam squatted down, pulling his brother up and against him. “Dean? Come on,” he said as he felt for a pulse. He relaxed a bit when he found one tapping against his fingers strong and fast.

Sam turned his eyes up to Gabriel, “What did you do?"

Gabriel shrugged, "I gave him an angel sedative. He's lucky I didn't use my boot to dose him in suppository form. Plus, I did him a favor."

"Undo it and heal him Gabriel,” Sam demanded.

“No can do Kiddo on the former command,” Gabriel replied. “I’ll heal his broken body, but he stays out until we take care of his broken soul part. First thing’s first though. We need to discuss what’s going to happen next.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean—next?”

At that Gabriel raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Castiel appeared a few feet away from them looking confused and then concerned as his eyes found Dean lying limp in Sam’s lap.

“Dean!” Castiel called out. He made a move to go to the hunter’s aid but found he was stuck in place. He glared at Gabriel and commanded, “Release me.” Any power behind that command was lost when his voice came out more tired than authoritative.

“I will,” Gabriel said raising his eyebrows and then lowering them, “buuut not yet. First—we talk.”

Castiel sighed and his shoulders sagged, “We don’t have time for games Gabriel.”

“Oh,” Gabriel chuckled, “you're right on the sweet spot there, cupcake,” he nodded his head as he walked over to Metatron’s body and pulled the First Blade from his chest. The sickening wet sound that came from the action made Sam grimace.

Gabriel continued, “That’s the one thing neither of you two jugheads have. Time. The Mark is killing terminator over there,” Gabriel pointed the First Blade in Dean’s direction before turning to Castiel, “and your stolen grace is fizzling out fast.”

Castiel looked at his brother guiltily before turning his eyes from him and back to Dean.

Gabriel sighed and shrugged, “You’re both boned. No pun intended,” he said lifting the blade and looking at it before lowering it to his side again.

“If this is the talk you wanted to have, how about telling us something we don’t already know,” Sam bit out sarcastically.

The one side of Gabriel’s mouth shot up in a contrite grin as he rolled his eyes and shook his head, “What is it with you people? No patience for the build up.”

A serious expression fell over his face then as his eyes practically burrowed into Sam’s, “There’s a cure for Dean.”

He turned his eyes to Castiel, “For both of you.”

“You found my grace?” Castiel ask urgently.

“Sorry little brother, you know nothing is ever  _ that _ easy.”

“What then?” Castiel asked.

“You and I are going on a little trip,” Gabriel answered Castiel before turning to Sam. “And you’re going to a safe house to watch over your self-loathing martyr of a brother there until we get back.”

“Safe house?” Sam asked narrowing his eyes.

Gabriel walked closer to Sam, “Yeah, some place where your brother can’t get out and burn the whole world down,” he replied and if Sam wasn’t mistaking it—Gabriel said it like he legitimately cared.

Gabriel sighed before squatting down—setting his eyes on Sam for a long moment. Sam’s head canted and his eyes narrowed further—brow pinched. There was something in Gabriel’s expression Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on, but Gabriel looked—different.

The slightest of smiles played across the archangel's mouth before he turned his eyes to Dean. “Idiot,” he muttered as he placed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Sam could hear crunching and twisting as Dean’s broken bones were put back together. Once the sound stopped, Gabriel pulled his hand back.

“Thank you,” Sam sighed. He said it on reflex, but realized he really meant it. He found himself grateful to Gabriel because he was pretty sure if he hadn’t stepped in against Metatron, Dean would be dead right now.

It was Gabriel’s turn to lean his head slightly. He narrowed his eyes a fraction before standing. Sam’s sincerity caught him off guard to say the least. Instead of acknowledging Sam’s platitudes he replied, “He stays out until we get back.”

Just as Sam was about to ask where they were being sent, Gabriel snapped his fingers and they were gone—the First Blade as well.

Gabriel turned to Castiel as the angel asked, “Where did you send them?”

“Don’t you worry little brother. Right about now they are in a familiar place, but  _ very _ out of the way.”

Castiel glared at him, “Where?” he demanded.

He was still reeling from seeing Dean injured and the almost uncontrollable drive to protect the human was still pulsing through him. He was never quite sure what to do with what he felt. Since Metatron filled his head with every story the scribe had ever collected, those feelings were becoming more confounding. More complex.

A veil had been ripped in two. The veil between knowing what he felt as a human—the more base and inherent drives and emotions that came with it—and those of being an emotionally stunted angel.

Now he had the knowledge of the subtleties of human expression to add to it which meant he had a new set of defining parameters for those inherent drives and emotions. All this time he thought what he felt was loyalty, faith and trust, after all—it's all he had ever known. They had been his only defining parameters, but that was a long time ago.

He knew in the moment he gave up his army, gave up his chance to end Metatron and to fix his home—all to save Dean—he knew what he was feeling was much, much more.

Gabriel glared back, “Tone down the wrath Bruce Banner. They’re safe and we have more important things contend with right now.”

Gabriel’s tone and countenance instantly became more serious, “If you care anything for them—and I know you do—you’ll follow me.

Despite Gabriel’s insistence, Castiel’s rage only doubled as he leveled narrowed eyes at him, “And if I don’t?”

Gabriel was in front of Castiel in a blink of an eye. The force of his glare would have made Castiel take a step back if he could move. The archangel’s eyes softened a measure. A small huff came through his nose as if stifling words that wanted to flow out.

After a moment of composing himself he replied, “I’m not going to force you Castiel, but if you don’t walk the line with me here then we’re all fucked,” the curse echoed through the alley.

After a moment of internal deliberation Castiel replied, “I will go with you if you release me now and explain to me plainly what’s going on. Where is Sam and Dean?”

“They’re in the void. Their particular pocket is familiar. Complete with dusty books, moldy carpet and tacky wallpaper. Minus a grumpy Singer though. I thought that would be a little cruel—considering.”

Seeing Castiel’s glare hadn’t eased up, he rolled his eyes to the sky before leveling them back at the angel, “They’re safe Castiel. I wouldn’t have saved them just to kill them.”

“As I seem to recall, you enjoy playing with people before you kill them. You’ll have to excuse my lack of comfort with your attempt at reassurance.“  Castiel also knew there was no way he would find them in the void since he was pretty sure Gabriel warded them.

“Touché,” Gabriel replied amused. “But you’re just going to have to trust me, like I'm trusting you.”

Gabriel picked up one of the angel blades and handed to Castiel, who took it cautiously. When Castiel felt the hold on him release, he took a few steps back from where he had been standing to put space between himself and Gabriel. He turned to him then and asked, “What did you mean by you saved them?”

“Oh you think they killed Metatron all by themselves? Please. I took a look ahead, saw how this chapter ended. Your boyfriend was toast. Unfortunately, he made the kill before you shattered the tablet. Now we have a whole new set of problems my friend.”

“What is going on Gabriel?” Castiel implored—ignoring the twist in his chest from Gabriel’s choice of word in relation to Dean.

“There are things Castiel, things you don’t remember.”

“What don’t I remember?” Castiel asked, frustrated at the cryptic answer.

“Everything,” Gabriel replied.

“Gabriel, I don’t have time for this. Heaven is in chaos and we need to fix it.”

Gabriel smiled slightly, “Oh, we are going to Heaven, but fixing it is least important on our to-do list right now. There is someone you need to see.”

“Who?” Castiel demanded.

“I’m sorry Cassie, I can’t tell you that. I asked that you trust me. So, trust me,”

Gabriel replied. The next words were weighted with affection and deeper meaning, “Brother to brother.”

Castiel saw it when he hadn’t before, something was different about Gabriel. The energy that shifted and pulsed just below the surface of his vessel had changed. It was moving quicker—the light more vibrant. Archangel energy was always the most powerful, but this—this was far more.

Castiel voiced his observations, “You’ve changed.”

Gabriel smiled and shook his head, “No Castiel. I have awakened.”

Gabriel kept his eyes level with the angel. “Trust me,” he said in one final plea.

Castiel looked around him and then down to the place Dean had laid just moments before. Turning to Gabriel finally, he nodded. The archangel crossed the distance between them and reached out his hand, placing it on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel felt the energy now. Looking at where Gabriel’s hand rested and then to the wide smile that appeared. He looked like the Gabriel he knew, but he could feel the stranger that lurked just underneath.

“Hang on little brother.”

Something about how Gabriel said those words seemed to mean more than just the air lift he was about to get. Another moment later, they were off.

 

**~*~**

 

Sam was sitting at Bobby’s desk, his elbows resting on the top if it—fingers entwined and pressed against his lips as he stared at his brother lying on the couch. Dean was still under the effects of whatever Gabriel had done to him. His brother hadn’t even so much as twitched. Sam would have been worried if not for the fact Gabriel had healed Dean. He was pretty sure if they were in any danger, the archangel wouldn’t have done that or put them up in a familiar place.  He might be hexing himself to say it, but it’s as if Gabriel wanted them comfortable. 

Sam huffed through his nose at how off that wall that even sounded. He leaned back in Bobby’s chair as it gave a familiar squeak and grind. He rubbed the palms of his sweaty hands on his jeans and looked around him. He had to hand it to Gabriel, he was damn good at mimicking reality right down to scents. He looked down at the drawer where Bobby always stashed his booze of the day. Gabriel was good, but he wondered just how good he could be. The chair groaned again as he leaned forward and opened the drawer. Sure enough, there was a bottle of Doublewood scotch and a rock glass sitting right next to it.

“Huh,” he pursed his lips and nodded his head appreciatively.

He reached in and took out both glass and bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he then poured himself two shots worth into the rock glass. He looked at the golden liquor before putting it to his lips and tilting it back. The burn turned into a heady warmth as it spread from his center to his limbs, and the weight on him easing some. He poured another two shots worth and then stood. With glass in hand he started scanning some of the books stacked by the staircase. Most of them were your standard fare, others were pretty rare. His gaze shot up when he heard something. Turning his ear to listen where he thought the sound was coming from, he heard it again. If he wasn’t mistaken, it sounded much like the vigorous shake of a rattlesnakes tail.

His eyes shot to the floor and he began scanning the surface. Not seeing anything in his immediate area, he glanced at Dean who was still lying as he had been. He heard it again, but this time it seemed to be coming from upstairs. He glanced from his brother to the stairs, and was left with a keen feeling gut deep that whatever was producing the sound wanted him to find the source of it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Leaving his brother wasn’t an option so he returned to the desk wishing Cas and Gabriel would get their asses back from wherever it was they’d gone.

 

**~*~**

 

“Where are we?” Castiel asked as he look around him. The atmosphere was tinted in orange and browns. In the sky above there hung stormy clouds of black and grey. Lightning flickered within them giving everything an ominous feel. The low rumble of thunder vibrated the air around them with gusts of wind kicking up sand from the ground paved in sandstone.

Gabriel didn’t answer at first. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a medallion with a clear ruby colored stone encased in intricate design of silver knot work. The stone came to life with a blood red light. Within the glow there was flashes of blue micro-lightning.

Gabriel studied it and nodded to himself before turning to Castiel to ask, “Don’t you recognize this place? I mean, it’s a little neglected by a millennia of abandonment, but it pretty much looks the same.”

Castiel’s eyes were scanning as far as he could see. His brow tightened as he tried to recall a memory of anything his eyes landed on, but nothing stimulated an ounce of recollection. Castiel turned to him. Sighing in frustration and impatience he replied, “No, I don’t remember this place. Should I?”

“Man, Naomi and her lobotomy squad really did a number on your noggin,” he informed while shaking his head.

“This is Araboth Castiel,” Gabriel gestured to the land around them with his hands, his eyes taking in the open expanse. His arms came down slapping his sides.

Castiel tried to seek out a recollection that the name should have provoked. All worlds, both seen and unseen, and all dwellings of their father’s house was known to him by name. Araboth was not among them. Gabriel was insisting he should know of the name at the very least.

“I don’t remember a place named Araboth.”

Gabriel sighed and shook his head again. “Wow. Even I remember this place,” he chuckled—stopping short of elaborating on what he meant by that.

“This is the realm where Father’s throne rests. This is the Seventh Heaven where you co-ruled by his side.”

Castiel’s eyes widened. Had Naomi or another angel really erased something as big as that? She did say he had to be reprogrammed  _ too damn many _ times. Was it possible? He dropped his gaze to the ground trying to access memories. Again he could find nothing even remotely a reflection of what he was being told. He lifted his eyes back to Gabriel, “Co-ruled? Perhaps you remember wrong. Besides, I’m not fit to rule anywhere,” his tone sad and exhausted. “Least of all, beside God—let alone  _ with _ .”

Gabriel turned to him fully then, all humor in his expression falling away.

“That’s bullshit brother. I happen to remember the day you were born. The strength you possessed— _ still _ posses.” Castiel saw something shift in Gabriel’s expression and it worried him. “I wasn’t jerking your giblets back at the gas station when I told you that you should lead. It’s your inheritance Castiel, and in a few short minutes, you will remember.”

“I don’t believe—”

Gabriel held the pendant out in front of him cutting off whatever it was Castiel was going to say, “Follow me and you will.”

He said it with all the confidence on Heaven and Earth as he turned from Castiel and began walking away—his eyes trained on the pendant held out in front of him like a compass rather than on the path before him.

Castiel took one more look around him—uncertainties mixed with curiosity before falling in step behind his brother.

 

**~*~**

 

Sam awoke to the sound of hawk’s loud piercing screech. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but he instantly knew he wasn’t at Bobby’s—or the illusion of Bobby’s at any rate. A moment of deja vu crept over him waking up on his back in Cold Oak. Though, he was positive he wasn’t back there at least. 

Instead of feeling cold and damp or the scent of mud and fading sulfur invading his senses, he felt comfortable and warm. The soft scent of dry earth and the sounds of nature—of life—encouraged him to open his eyes. He blinked rapidly against the sun’s glare coming through the trees that canopied above him. He studied the leaves flickering and limbs swaying to the soft gust of wind that swept through the clearing.

Another screech came, this time louder. Closer. Sam sat up quickly—his eyes seeking out the bird of prey. On a downed tree just a few feet away, the hawk in question was perched proudly. Their eyes met and the bird canted its head staring him down—questioning.

Sam felt distinctly like he was being weighed and measured in the blinking glare. Seeming to find what it was looking for, it unfolded its large wings and fluttered them with enough power that Sam’s hair was fanned from his face as it took flight. Sam scooted his feet underneath himself and stood.

Assessing his physical status, he found that everything was in working order. He was brushing the dirt and leaves off his backside and out of his hair from the forest floor when the hawk let off a third scream. Sam glanced up as it disappeared into the forest just ahead of him. He knew the call was for him to follow, so taking one last look around him, Sam did just that while wondering why he wasn’t more concerned about where he was and where he wasn’t. Somehow he knew Dean was okay and that he was needed here right now.

Sam’s journey through the thick patch of forest was marked by watching as the hawk flew from limb to limb, leading him deeper until all light from the sun above was nearly blocked out. It left only a fluorescent-like glow to light his way that was getting dimmer the further they went. Even stranger than being led by and actually trusting a hawk not to lead him toward bad times—or just getting him plain lost—was the behavior of the forest around him.

Brush and limbs moved from their path as they went. Not in an exaggerated, parting of the Red Seas kind of way, but enough that he didn’t have to push his way through or stumble over smaller branches and vines at his ankles. He shivered at the sense that he was being watched—eyes all around him, but he saw nothing and heard no one.

After several minutes of following, he entered into another clearing. At first Sam didn't see it, but just when he was entertaining the idea that his guide had gotten him lost and then left him stranded, the hawk soared past close enough that feathers grazed Sam’s cheek. Startled, Sam’s gaze followed the bird as it landed on a gnarled root protruding just above the mouth of a moss covered cavern. He knew the hawk was done in his duties because his attention was off Sam and onto pruning his feathers instead. Sam thought of Purgatory’s entrance into Hell even though this one wasn’t hidden from view. This opening was also taller and wider. It was inviting for exploration, rather than prompting him hightail run back from where he’d come from. Not that he knew where  _ here _ or even  _ there _ was.

Sam saw movement at his feet and glanced down. A thick mist was rolling through, blanketing the ground. When he turned to look back to where he had entered the clearing, he found it completely closed off by a wall of the mist and he knew there was no going back. It would be like walking blindfolded. He was contemplating just hunkering down until it cleared—avoiding any thoughts of entering the cave—when the hawk gave a shrill that might as well have been a 30 ot 6 rifle going off right next to him. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried his best to glare at the bird. It ruffled its feathers—clearly pissed at having to wait on him and wasn’t taking Sam’s evil eye seriously.

“Alright, alright,” Sam grumbled before walking over to the opening—the Hawk was watching him as he passed under and entered. Just as he did, he heard the same beckoning rattle from back at counterfeit Bobby’s place. It was echoing out from further in the cave and without hesitation, he began to seek out the source as another rattle followed on the tail end echo of the first.

As he walked in the darkness, he had the sensation of walking downwards rather than straight even though the ground before him wasn’t at an angle. Once he was completely enveloped in darkness, he stopped.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice bouncing around in the dark. The rattling sound came again from in front of him in answer. He swallowed as he reached out to his left, his fingertips coming in contact with solid matter. He shuffling himself over enough so that the palm of his hand could flatten fully to the damp stone wall. He brought his other hand up and reached out to the emptiness in front of him before continuing his journey. His steps were cautious only because he wanted to make sure he didn’t stumble over something or fall into a crack in the stone floor—not because he was anxious. To his surprise, he was feeling very much the opposite.

This felt… it felt like familiar territory. Like the roads he and Dean had been down hundreds of times as they crisscrossed the country on a hunt. He was sure some people would find seeing the same scenery hundreds of times redundant , preferring to jump off a cliff rather than do it one more time. To him though, there was a comfort to be found, in it because it was predictable. It represented stability, and he was sure that it was more of the same for Dean. Maybe more so since it was the only stability his brother had ever know.

That line of thought was quickly packed away when he stumbled over what felt like a root at his ankle. He need to keep his mind focused on here and now or he was going to end up breaking his neck.

As he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, the rattle continued to sound at irregular intervals—becoming louder with less echo as he closed in on the source.

After what seemed like an eternity of grappling around in the dark, he spotted a faint light up ahead. Encouraged, he quickened his steps since his path could be more easily seen. When he reached the source of the dim light, he found it was emanating through a stone lined archway that led into another chamber of the cave. He only hesitated for a moment before passing through the arch and entering the other chamber. He did stop then to take in the full scope of his surroundings.

The chamber was circular with polished sandstone walls that arched up shaping into a vaulted forty foot high ceiling that was lined by vines and roots from the trees that were likely topside. The curved wall of the chamber was lined with  serpentinite stone  columns. Spiraled around each of them as a single ivory white stone serpent—the heads of which were bent down and turned toward the center of the room. A wide beam of moonlight descending from above was illuminating the center of stone floor below. Well, it appeared like moonlight, but there was no detectable source for the light and there wasn’t an opening in the ceiling the he could see.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” he called out. His own voice was the only thing he heard in reply as it echoed into the hallow of the chamber.

He turned to go back the way he had come when a female voice from behind addressed him, “Sssam, we have been waiting a very long time for you.”

Sam turned slowly and nearly tripped over himself in his effort to back away—his back hitting a column with a thud. In front of him was a woman sitting crossed legged in mid air—her face covered in shadow. Her scarlet robes and long blond hair was fluttering and waving around her from a wind that was coming from nowhere Sam could detect. She crossed her arms before her, lifting one hand to her chin as if contemplating the man before her.

“Do not be frightened, come clossser,” the rattling that had led him here punctuated her command. The way she drew out her S’s almost breathlessly put Sam on edge.

 

“No, that’s all right,” he answered as he took a few steps back. “I think I’m okay right here,” he added while trying to get a quick relay of the room to plan his escape. When he turned to the opening he had entered the room from, it was nothing but solid wall. Now he was feeling anxious and he cursed himself for being so damn stupid as to even come into the cave in the first place.

The woman unwrapped herself, uncrossing her legs and descended gracefully until her bare feet touched the ground. Her robes continued to roll in gentle waves as she walked toward him. Her footsteps so silent and swift that she appeared to be slithering rather than taking steps at all.

Standing before him now, he could finally see her face. She was beautiful! Her skin had the same texture and color consistent with being human, but it had a slight sheen to it that reflected the pale non-moonlight in the room rather than absorbed it like human skin would. ‘Like the scales of a serpent,’ he reasoned.

Her features were pointed and her face long. Her cheek bones rested high under large bright eyes—the shade of green unlike anything Sam had ever seen before. He was awestruck.

As his eyes continued to gaze into hers, he felt his anxiety pool from his body completely and he felt… relief. One time, when he was a kid—before he knew about the things that go bump in the night—he woke to take a piss and when he looked up he saw a shadow near the motel’s door. Scared him shitless because their dad wasn’t there to protect him so he called out for Dean who flipped the light on before he had even finished saying his name. In the illumination, the shadow was now Dean’s coat that he had hooked over a nail near the door frame. The relief he felt then was what he was feeling now. There was nothing to fear here. This woman was a friend, a confidant, a teacher. He could trust her—though he didn’t know her and sure the hell had no reason to trust her. He would normally blame this on some spell she was casting or some power of persuasion she had over him except—he knew what spells and persuasion felt like and there was no sense of free will when they were invoked. There was lack of personal power to say no.

While his path of escape had been cut off, he knew if he asked to leave she would let him. He didn’t want to leave though. He needed to find out who she was and why she had brought him all the way here. Wherever here was.

 

“Who are you,” he managed to ask.

 

“I—am Pythia.”

 

**~*~**

 

After walking for an inestimable amount of time Gabriel finally came to a stop just at the edge of a cliff with Castiel close beside him. Both were now staring out into the nothingness beyond when Gabriel exclaimed, “Ah! Here it is. It moves around so much. It’s a pain in the ass to keep tracking down.”

Castiel was looking at the medallion now which was flashing at a rhythm much like a human heartbeat.

“What keeps moving around?” he asked. His eyes leaving the medallion to focus on Gabriel who was packing an amused smirk.

“A portal,” he answered. He held the medallion out in front of him, “and this here is both compass and key.”

He threw the medallion out into the nothing before them. Instead of it falling into oblivion, it stuck to an invisible surface. Whatever was inside the stone was now swirling madly. The lightening flashes of electric blue were flitting so fast that it almost appeared to not be flashing at all. The ground rumbled and the void in front of them split open like a curtain. The light emanating from within so intense, Castiel had to avert his eyes until they adjusted.

Gabriel sing-songed, “It’s a whoooole new woooorld,” as he leapt into the light in a poor imitation of a ballerina. When he landed, he turned to Castiel and waved—beckoning him to follow.

Castiel sighed. Now that he was getting all the cultural references, he couldn’t decide if he found Gabriel more irritating or entertaining. Most likely it was a marriage of the two. Shaking his head—knowing he was going to regret it—he stepped into the light with far less enthusiasm.

Once Castiel was through, Gabriel reached up and pulled the medallion down which caused the portal close. The light they were suspended in dimmed completely to reveal a world that was of a beauty unlike any in all of the Universes in all their infinite multi-dimensions. It hit Castiel like a ten ton brick where it is that Gabriel had landed them, “This is Eden!”

Gabriel was smiling like the cat that caught the canary, “So you  _ do _ remember some things.”

Castiel’s eyes were wide. This was a place of legend that Father had hidden away when humanity had fallen. Father’s forbidden treasure. Just their feet touching ground in this place was sacrilege, but Castiel was too overwhelmed to care.

“I remember seeing it from a distance—once. It was the most amazing sight I had ever seen.”

This was the holy Garden Father had created for man. Everything in it was in harmony within itself. Plants were of a color so brilliant that any colors of the human and Heavenly realms seemed dull and lifeless in comparison. Everything had its own song which danced on the air. Even though everything had its own unique melody, they were completely in tune. Together they composed a song that nearly made his knees want to bend to the ground and kneel—to be lost to its chorus forever. He would be okay with that.

The scents from the flowers in permanent bloom was intoxicating in a way that no drug on earth could ever be. There was an energy of pure rapture here that no amount of carnal fulfillment would ever rival. This was indeed Paradise.

“Don’t O.D. on me,” Gabriel said with a chuckle. “It’s overwhelming. Gotta be careful to stay focused. When I stumbled into here after having not seen this place for well over a millenia I was standing with my mouth open for so long, it’s a wonder birds didn’t come down to nest. And then I got my ass kicked by a woman. That was emasculating,” he added sarcastically.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Gabriel, “A woman?”

“He means me,” the female in question said as she stepped out of the forest and into the clearing. She was strikingly beautiful. Her hair white and flowing as falling snow. Her skin almost the color or porcelain and eyes a bright shade of green like sunlight through glass. Her face was round with full lips, both of which remained expressionless. She was adorned in a purple hakama with leather bindings at her waist. Her top was sleeveless and the same shade of purple. A cloak fanned behind her as she walked towards them and Castiel noticed that the broaches holding her cloak in place were the same ruby stone as the one on the medallion. The gauntlets that went from her hands to mid upper arms were made of a material Castiel couldn’t readily identify. Those—plus the swords strapped to her waist in holsters that hung at each side—were signs she was possibly as lethal as she looked.

 

 

Castiel stood taller, his back steel rod straight in an effort to show his own dominance. He looked down his nose at her with his eyes narrowed as he waited for any advancement she might make to attack. The attack never came.

“Is this him?” she addressed Gabriel without looking at Castiel. Her voice was soft and pleasant which was in complete contrast to the intimidating presence she held.

“The one and only,” the archangel replied.

“Gabrielle, meet Castiel. Castiel, meet Gabrielle…” Gabriel’s expression and tone turned cautious as he added the last bit, “daughter of the angel Shamsiel.”

Castiel shot Gabriel a glare at lightening speed and his eyes widened—his brows almost touching his hairline. Castiel felt both angered and panicked at the revelation that Gabrielle was the daughter of one of the Fallen. Angels who betrayed their Father by teaching humans forbidden knowledge and mating with them—giving birth to the murderous Nephilim.

All of the Nephilim from that ancient union were supposedly destroyed by Gabriel’s army, but apparently the siege hadn’t been as successful as all had thought. Shamsiel was one of the most fierce of the angels. Not only was she a Watcher, a chosen mediator between God and humans, but she lead 365 legions of angels before her rebellion. She was someone to fear. By looking at her daughter, he wouldn’t doubt it was much the same with her too.

His angel blade slide from beneath his trench coat’s cuff reflexively.

Gabrielle grinned then, “Put away your pig stick Castiel, son of Enki. I will remove your hand from arm before you can raise it.”

Her grin grew wider bearing a challenge and a promise.

“Okay, okay,” Gabriel interjected. “The  _ both _ of you,” he added as he positioned himself between the two of them.

“Enough with the posturing and measuring dick sizes.”  

Gabriel eyed Castiel, but he made no move to put away his blade.

“Oh come on, for the love of—give me that damn thing,” Gabriel commanded like he was chastising a toddler. He grabbed a hold of the exposed end of the hilt and began the task of wrenching it from Castiel’s grip which was taking a lot of work since Castiel had a death grip on it. After a few seconds of playing tug-of-war, Castiel released it—feeling he had proven his point.

Gabriel immediately handed it over to Gabrielle who took it as she continued to glare at Castiel who was returning it in equal measure.

“I swear, I can’t take you anywhere,” Gabriel said in mock exasperation to Castiel—rolling his eyes as he shook his head.

Finally Gabrielle’s glare ended as she turned to start back into the forest.

“Follow,” she commanded over her shoulder without sparing another glance their way.

Gabriel started to do just that when he noticed Castiel remained where he had been standing. He turned and reached out—grabbing the stubborn angel's trench coat sleeve to pull him along, “Quit being a sore loser. Come on.”

“What did she mean by  _ son of Enki _ _?_ ” Castiel questioned.

Gabriel’s expression turned regretful, “It’s not my place to answer that,” he replied solemly.

Castiel started moving but uttered annoyingly, “What have you gotten us into Gabriel?”

Gabriel only turned to look at him over his shoulder as he kept walking—adding a wiggle of his brow.

“That’s not very comforting,” Castiel muttered sarcastically, but kept following.

 

**~*~**

 

“Follow me Sssam, Man of Lettersss—Ssson of John.”  Pythia turned from him as gracefully as she had approached—her robes flowing out around her hypnotically.

Gently pulled by an invisible hand, Sam moved away from the column and followed her. When they reached the other side of the circular room, she mutter words in a language Sam had never heard before.

In response to her command, the wall in front of them literally melted away revealing yet another entryway.

Following her inside, he found himself within a multi-chambered cavern decorated in obir drip stone and columns formed from stalactite and stalagmite joined. At the center of the domed cavern, was a chasm from which white smoke rose, masking the ceiling. It moved as an aware entity—a massive white serpent surfacing just barely and then diving under. A dragon upon the morning mists that hovered over the sea. Sam blinked and it faded, possibly a trick of dim light and shadow. The scent of sandalwood and sage clung thickly in the air. Perhaps it had hallucinogenic properties because he wasn’t quite feeling like himself the more he inhaled.

 

He turned his eyes from the ceiling to Pythia who was making her way toward the chasm. When she reached the edge of it, she turned to him. Her expression was one of anticipation of the question she knew Sam wanted to ask.

“You know about me, about my father—the Men of Letters...”

A smile graced her lips, “I have always known about you, Sam. You are destined to become a Legacy. Though…” her smile faded, “...what the Order has become does cause me grave concern.”

Sam thought on her words and wondered out loud, “What it has become?”

She became extremely still—staring. If Sam hadn’t known better he would have sworn she had turned to stone, but her eyes moved over him as she answered, “Weak and without a leader. The Legacy was never to be compromised by its consolidation into the Men of Letters ”

Sam’s brow pinched together, “Wait, I must be missing something. I thought the Legacy  _ was _ the Men of Letters. An organization of scholars—collectors of knowledge?”

Pythia chuckled in a guttural purr that was completely inhuman. The tone of it was layered in bitterness which made Sam feel uneasy.

“Tell me Sam, what is knowledge when it is willfully wasted? It sits collecting dust in a tomb for the living. Those privileged few—while those outside its walls are left defenseless. Left to suffer. Left to die. Much sacrifice has been made in giving humanity this knowledge,” Pythia paused then, waiting for the rebuttal she knew was coming.

“Wasted?! My brother and I have been using any knowledge we uncover to save people. Every damn day—” Sam implored, choking back on the angry sob that almost escaped.

He and his brother had been busting their asses their whole life. If she wanted to compare sacrifices made, they had plenty to back up their side of it. They’d sacrificed so much—everything—to help as many people as they could. The accusation that they hadn’t been doing enough was pissing him off royally.

“And where have you been in all of this, huh? Why haven't you been helping?” he blurted out angrily before he could stop himself.

Pythia tilted her head at Sam’s passing off the blame. Rather than mocking him or even dismissing him she replied, “You misplace my disappointment, Sam. It is not in you I find fault. It is in you I see the return of the Legacy to its purpose.”

He wanted to know to what purpose she was referring too, but the fact she was voicing no mention of his brother was making him nervous. What could that mean? He knew Dean was in a bad way, but Gabriel said he could fix Dean. He believed Gabriel was sincere, but what if the archangel couldn’t follow through? He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this meant Dean wasn’t going to survive the Mark.

“Your brother has his own work to do. In time. This path, is only meant for you Sam. Since the beginning, it has only been you.”

He startled at her answering his unvoiced concerns.

_ ‘ You can read my mind?’ _ he asked inwardly.

_ ‘ I am inside your mind Sam.’ _

It hit him then just how he'd come to this world with an acceptance of his surrounds because, “I’m dreaming?” he said out loud.

“You would not come to me. So I had to come to you,” she chided.

“But, my brother—” he started.

“I know Sam. I know about the curse. I know about the fool, Metatron. I also know Gabriel and Castiel are facing the truth handed out by the one who will give the ultimate sacrifice for it and for his love of their people and humanity.”

She turned slightly toward the smoke rising from the chasm which drew Sam’s gaze to it as well. After staring for a moment, he started to see moving figures within. He could see Castiel and Gabriel walking closely behind a woman through a forest. It was only a brief glimpse before it faded away as a breeze wafted through altering the flow of the smoke.

Sam’s eyes turned to her just as she was turning her own eyes back to him which were now lit in a violet glow.

“What are you?”

“I am of the Sekhmet. I make ready the way for the Restorer.”

She approached him then until they were chest to chest. She looked up into Sam’s face as he glance down into her eyes which were back to the inhuman green of before. Sam wasn’t sure what to do or what she expected him to do, but as if under the control of the woman before him, he leaned his face down the few inches needed so that she could slot her face next to his.

Her lips were touching his ear as she commanded lowly, “When I call on you again, you are to come to me. All will be revealed. No secrets. No lies Sam. I will show you what a Legacy truly is and you will know the true reason for your existence. What you are destined to become Sssam Winchester. Man of Lettersss and ssson of John. You will die to that self and be reborn a Legacy.”

Sam found himself nodding—some deeper part within himself comprehending where his conscious mind was without a clue to what her words were alluding too. He lifted his head to look at her to see if there might be an answer there. She lifted her hand and caressed his face—her hands cool and smooth against his skin. She was not caressing him like a lover he realized, but as a mother to her child. He felt  _ protected _ . He felt  _ cherished _ .

A smile formed on her lips in response to his thoughts. Then, with no other words to impart she commanded in a whisper, “awaken.”

Sam jolted awake nearly falling out of Bobby’s chair from the force of lifting his head too fast off the table and the momentum of jumping back in an attempt to move away from whatever had propelled him from sleep. His whole body was vibrating like a tuning fork and Pythia’s whisper was still echoing in his head. He glanced over to his brother who still had not moved. Wiping his face and running a hand through his hair he cleared his throat. He didn’t bother to stand—not trusting his legs to support his weight. So he sat there, thinking over everything that had occurred in his dream and wondering if any of it had been real even though he could still feel Pythia’s presence all around him.

 

**~*~**

 

Castiel had stayed at a safe distance behind Gabrielle with Gabriel at his side. None of them had uttered a single word since they had begun following her. While nothing seemed to point to betrayal on the horizon, Castiel was growing increasingly on edge with every step. There was a keen sense that he was retracing his steps through a millennia in an effort to find something he had lost—yet he had no memory of what that something was. There was also the many questions unanswered. He worried over how they would eventually be revealed once they reached their destination.

Gabrielle had called him  _ son of Enki _ , a name he only vaguely was aware of but written off as human myth. Not something of worth to retain. Now he was trying to think over everything he knew and was coming back with very little.

Several minutes later, they entered a clearing in which stood a tree at its center. An elegantly gnarled trunk that twisted up to long branches on which golden leaves hung as they fluttered and danced in the breeze. Castiel was mesmerized and drawn in by it. Without being aware of his approach, he stood before it— lifting his hand to place a timid touch to the trunk. His fingers began to move of their own accord—tracing the twisted grooves. An energy coming from it felt familiar and it twisted painful at his center where something other than grace rested. Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled over.

This, this is what started it all.

“Beautiful is it not brother? The tree of Life,”  a male voice carrying much power and command, but compassion as well caused Castiel to turn quickly. His eyes landed on an angelic being unlike any he had seen before. He was encased within a human-like vessel nearly seven feet in height. He was adorned in white robes trimmed in blue, wearing a crimson hakama as Gabrielle. He was even carrying the same model of swords as Gabrielle which were sheathed at his sides. Armor of gold encased his chest and torso. Atop his head was a halo of golden light.

Castiel’s mouth opened and he was overcome with an emotion he couldn’t readily identify. He gasped as more tears fell. It was all he could do to remain standing.

Looking to Gabriel, Castiel found the archangel was no longer wearing the clothes he had entered Eden with. His human adornments stripped and replaced with intricate leather armor underneath a blue cloak. Castiel glanced down at himself seeing that his own human adornments had been replaced with armaments of blue-grey steel, a black undershirt and over which a long blue tunic flowed over black trousers. Boots of the same blue-grey steel bound by leather adorned his feet. 

Castiel touched the fabric and a tinge of familiarity tapped gently at the oldest portion of his memories.

“How does it feel to be back within your own garments?” the being questioned, his voice rolling over Castiel in waves of power that caused internal trembling.

Castiel brought his eyes around to risk gazing on the being directly. He found he could not answer the being’s question since he was unable to move neither his tongue nor his vocal cords—so overwhelmed with the being’s presence.

Castiel looked to Gabriel again for help or an answer and found him smiling at him with both reassurance and amusement.

The thing that was different about Gabriel which Castiel had noticed at the beginning of their journey was shining brighter. Both he and the being were glowing with a subtle light through their flesh and finally Castiel was able to speak.

“Who are you?”

“You know of me as the Archangel Sariel,” he answered simply.

Castiel stepped away, his back hitting the trunk of the Tree of Life. Fear was gripping his insides like a vice. There was no place to run now; no place to hide.  He was in the presence of one the most powerful of the first Fallen. An archangel he only heard of in hushed tales, but enough to cause fear and trembling. In measure of power, he made Lucifer appear impotent.

“Calm brother. Let there be peace. I would never harm you. Never you,” the archangel said as he approached him, his height morphing into being even with his own. As if his voice had the power to soothe all fear, Castiel felt peace wash over him with his words.

“Why have I been brought here?” Castiel asked, another tear falling.

Sariel smiled down at Castiel, “You were not brought, nor were you lead. You came of your own free will. You were pulled by someone deep and hidden within. Someone who lies sleeping and exists outside grace. He knew it was time to awaken and seek revelation.”

Sariel was looking down at Castiel’s chest, his unearthly green eyes seeming to see something there. Seeing the tear hot and soak into Castiel’s tunic, his eyes turned up to him. Bringing up his left hand, he gently caressed away the moisture from Castiel’s cheek where his hand continued to rest. In a lowered voice—intimate and only meant for them—he observed, “Your tears, they deceive you. Tell me. Why do you shed them?”

The feel of Sariel’s hand on his cheek was sending warmth through him coupled with an overpowering presence of love that Castiel wanted to melt into. His vessel’s flesh and blood suddenly felt far more confining than it ever had because the connection he desperately wanted to make with Sariel’s grace could not be made through matter. There was a part of him reacting, reaching towards something familiar he found in Sariel. Something that was once treasured beyond anything, yet lost with no hope of being found again. That is, until now.

Castiel had no words for it, he didn’t know what the reaching meant. He had no way to reason why he felt like he had spent an eternity in the bitter cold and darkness, only to be bathed in the warmth of the sun again just when he had given up hope.

“I—I don’t know,” he finally stammered out—his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes sought out Gabriel who had moved at some point and was now standing to Sariel’s right and Gabrielle on Sariel’s left. Gabriel’s smile still remained, and he nodded once to Castiel before Castiel tore his eyes away to gaze back into Sariel’s. The light right beneath the green was swirling like smoke from the end of a cigarette.

Sariel brought up his right hand then to cup the other side of Castiel’s face. On reflex, Castiel brought up his own hands to grab a hold of the Archangel’s wrists.

“Yes, you do,” Sariel countered. “You have been locked inside a dream. It is time to awaken Cassiel.

Castiel wondered why Sariel called him by another name as if he was speaking to someone separate from himself, but before he could think beyond that, Sariel lowered his mouth to his. Their lips barely touching and on some newly discovered instinct Castiel parted his own. Sariel began to whisper against them something in an a language he didn’t recognize. Castiel was inhaling the breath that Sariel was exhaling as he continued to chant.

It hit Castiel, as the breath started moving within him, that he was breathing in Sariel’s grace. It was searching for something, its movements had purpose. Once Sariel’s grace got to a place just below Castiel's sternum, it began wrapping itself around the thing it had found there like a warm blanket. Once the grace had fully encased whatever it had been seeking, Castiel began to convulse. Gabriel reached out to grab one side of his body and Gabrielle the other. Sariel stood as still as a stone and once he knew Gabriel and Gabrielle had a good hold on Castiel, he stopped chanting and put his lips tightly against Castiel’s.

Castiel felt the connection and knew the light of Sariel’s grace was burning through every part of his vessel and erupting in an explosion of memories that started with the present before approaching an unfiltered past. Suddenly, a curtain rolled back in his mind and the scales that had been covering his eyes fell away. He finally knew who he was.

He knew everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biblical referencing;
> 
> The Kiss- The kiss Sariel gave Castiel has religious and spiritual significance and is mentioned in Christian and Jewish texts. 
> 
> -When God breathed the breath of life in to the clay formation of man, he did so with a kiss (mouth to mouth).  
> -Jesus kissed Mary Magdalene on the lips and it made the disciples jealous.  
> -Kissing one on the lips was seen as a non-sexual display of affection.  
> -Judas kissed Jesus on the lips when he betrayed, which taken into context the fact it was a sign of deep affection and loyalty- it makes the use of it to signal the guards who Jesus was to take him away, just makes it even worse.  
> -Jesus used a kiss and a exchange of breath to confer on his Apostles the Holy Spirit.  
> -A kiss on the lips was a sign of greeting in the Bible and signified different things; Respect and honor, Love, Fidelity, Deep emotional attachment, Joy or sadness, Loyalty. --- -Early Christians used to greet each other with a 'Holy Kiss' (1 Thess. 5:6).
> 
> The veil/curtain symbolism- In the Bible this is often used to signify the discovering of truth or an end of separation between God and man. In the Temple of the Old Testament, there was a veil between the outside world and where God's presence manifested. Only priests were allowed to go behind the veil and when they would come out, they would convey to the people what God said. When Jesus died, the veil ripped in two which signified the end of separation of the Divine and humankind. Humans could now communicate with God themselves with no need for a mediator. In this fic, it signifies the revelation of truth and the end to the separation secrets create.
> 
> The Scales on the Eyes symbolism- Found in the story of Paul (Acts 9:1-19); Was used to signify spiritual blindness. When Paul became enlightened, the scales fell away. In this fic, it is mentioned to signify an enlightenment for Castiel, something that will affect him on every level. Not only does he know the truth, but the truth changes him.
> 
> If you have any questions whatsoever for anything in this fic, please ask. I won't discuss plot related questions but everything else is game.


	4. A QUICK UPDATE FOR MY SUBSCRIBERS

Just wanted to let you all know there will be two chapters posted next (that's why it is taking a little longer). **The Revelation of Sariel** and **Chapter Four, Part Two of 'The End is the Beginning'** will be posted at the same time. While reading **The Revelation of Sariel** will not be 'required', it is a history of the beginning of all things on through Chuck (aka the god Enki) taking over and the point where everything changes (or to be more accurate, the truth was hijacked). You also learn all about Castiel and Gabriel's history. While you learn of who Castiel is in **Part Two of 'The End is the Beginning'** , it is not well explained. You will be left asking questions and **The Revelation of Sariel** has all that story in detail. You will learn about how souls were created, important points of humanity's pre-history and a hell of a lot more.

So, if you are reading this as a 'fic', feel free to just by-pass it ( **though I'll warn you, it will likely take away from your enjoyment and emotional impact of everything that follows** ). If you are seriously into lore, the occult, SPN centered mythos and wanting to know how it all began... then please don't skip it.

I'm **NOT TREATING THIS AS FANFICTION!** I'm treating this with the same seriousness I would a Supernatural Novel... or better yet, a Supernatural film which includes the Destiel story most of Destiellers have been waiting for and doing Sam and Gabriel's stories (and relationship) justice.

I also wanted to let everyone know that I have included info in **[Chapter Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1351420/chapters/3964264)** in the beginning and ending notes. I was asked by several people to know about **Mages** or asking me why I put a 'silly fantasy' word in there. *sighs* Not to sound rude, I swear... but it was clear that people do not understand the occultic version and only know that fantasy genre version. I can see how if the latter is the case, it would appear 'silly'. I promise you, it is anything but. So in **Chapter Two** , in the beginning and ending notes I have given you a little education and references that I hope turns your mind towards the Occult version of the title and away from the fantasy genre version ( _for the love of all that is holy and unholy_ ).

Like I said, this series is being treated seriously and while it has some SciFi and Fantasy tropes, it is important to remember that our modern scifi and fantasy actually comes from myth and lore of the ancients. Flying machines, genetic engineering, computer technology, magic (alchemy was actually the beginnings of chemistry. Esoteric knowledge is still practiced to this very day) etc. were all in the myths/lore of our past and was VERY real to our ancestors as we know it is real (or at least believed to be real) in our modern world. To think that our ancestors were primitive and slow minded would be a false assumption. Many ancient societies knew of things they should not have had possible knowledge of and we are just 'discovering' now (or rediscovering to be more accurate).

Anyway, all that being said...

Two chapters coming soon. Thank you all so much for your interest and support for this project!


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